


i court the loveliest of crimes

by ThinkingCAPSLOCK



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Noir, Background Character Death, Blood, Detective Noir, M/M, Murder Mystery, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-11 03:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12926355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingCAPSLOCK/pseuds/ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: In the city, the truth is always darker than you'd expect.Bokuto Koutarou has gone straight, or as straight as one can in the hellhole that is the city. He works as a private investigator - for, of course, the right price. But when his new case for a striking and mysterious client leads to a dead body and a sinister plot, he has to search harder than ever before to solve it - and confront a past he'd hoped to leave behind.





	1. i found you lost, misplaced; i loved that lovely guise

**Author's Note:**

> a bokuaka film noir themed around an AFI song - the most self indulgent fic i have ever written. please enjoy!

_The Present, Akaashi's Apartment_

There's a cigarette in the ashtray.

One of those things about being a private investigator is that you've got to keep your eyes open at all times. Most might miss the cigarette - the butt of one, really - or, if they notice, be too preoccupied to think about it. Maybe they'd see the ornate pattern on the glass tray, or the layer of dust on the small table, but miss the real clue, the real story. It's easy to get caught up in the obvious during a murder: the dead body, the inevitable pool of blood. I can't see it yet, hovering as I am in the foyer, but I can smell it clear as day, the rusting copper that never quite fades, no matter how much you clean up the mess. 

I've always prided myself on being the best at whatever I do, and investigating is no different. So I see the cigarette butt. I note it. I consider it. I slip a bag out of my waistcoat pocket and take it. One quick moment, one sleight of hand. It's as if it was never there at all.

Half the damn city smokes, and if my client did, I wouldn't have bothered with it at all. But I know, fact for fact, he's never touched a cigarette in his life. He's walking to the closet, my coat draped over his arm, his own still on: collar turned up, hat pulled low. Akaashi Keiji isn't a man who likes attention. I'm sure he likes the body on his floor even less. He might be a bit naïve all the same - he hasn't once glanced over his shoulder at me as he walks down the hall, and we've barely known each other four hours. 

Perhaps my reputation precedes me. Perhaps he's got enough on his plate already. 

"So," I call down the hallway, the cigarette snug in my pocket, "where's the body?"

"Living room." Akaashi's voice is muffled by the closet door. He leans back, his fedora shadowing his eyes. "It's hard to miss, once you're there. I'll be with you in a moment." 

His apartment is small, almost quaint. It speaks to a life I can only dream of. Akaashi didn't tell me what his job was - most clients don't, if they can avoid it, though I can always find out if I need to - but it's one that pays better than a P.I. Artwork lines the walls, vases the counters, though the flowers are dying and the paintings faded. The lights are sharp and harsh, the wallpaper a light blue. Even the couch looks recently upholstered, yet never used. A house of luxury he hasn't the time for.

Pity.

The intensifying smell alone would have been enough to alert me that the body's in the living room. I hear Akaashi come up behind me, flick my eyes over my shoulder in time to see him pull out a handkerchief to cover his mouth and nose. Embroidered. White. A sharp contrast to the red and brown that covers his imported carpets, stains the bottom of his cherry wood coffee table. 

"That, Bokuto," Akaashi murmurs, "is the mystery I've hired you to solve."

It's a damn good one, too. The dead man's face is covered in dry blood, but seems otherwise unmarred. His hair is silver, slick and greased, his coat worn, but not old. I glance down his form, taking in all I can in a cursory survey before I'll settle in and begin my proper investigation. New shoes, the lack of wear on the soles apparent. A bracelet on his exposed hand, the other trapped underneath him. The top corner of a Mikasa brand cigarette box jutting out from his coat pocket. I wonder what brand I have sitting in my pocket. I wonder if it's a match.

I wonder about the other man, behind me, face covered, eyes as unreadable as the moment we met. I wonder if he's as innocent as he makes himself out to be. I wonder, as I crouch down close, as I turn the dead man's head with a pen from my pocket, what the hell could've led him to my office if he's not.

-

_Four Hours Prior, Bokuto's Office_

I glance up from the newspaper as the bell on my office door dings. A man enters - for him to have gotten through Shimizu means something about his story - or his money - will pique my interest. Behind me, sharp light sifts in, slants that form between the blinds and the clouds outside. It's not raining, not yet. But it will. It always does. 

I sit straight, folding the paper, and observe.

He's tall, taller than average, though nowhere near as tall as I am. He moves with a grace few around these parts manage. Black coat, collar turned up, worn at the cuffs, but clean. Gun holstered at his side - I can tell by the way he holds his arms - and he walks like a man who's used to its presence there. His eyes are hidden by the brim of his fedora, his hands gloved as he sweeps it off his head. His hair's curly, unruly, short. His eyes are dark, framed by long lashes. His skin is pale, smooth. Handsome enough to have walked out of a motion picture. Sharp enough to know that around these parts, that'll turn all kinds of heads. He doesn't fidget, or fret. No hand twisting or shaking. 

He looks like the kind of trouble I want to get into. 

He surveys the room as I survey him, and he nods to himself, satisfied by whatever he sees. I'm pretty satisfied myself. I gesture to the chair across my desk, tilting my head, never once letting him leave my line of sight. "Sit down, handsome. What brings a man like you out looking for an investigator?"

"It's Akaashi. Akaashi Keiji." His voice is low, cutting. It could carry across a crowd if he wanted it to - but he doesn't right now. He just wants to glare at me. I raise my hands. I'd be a poor investigator if I couldn't understand a hint so obvious. After another moment of sizing me up, Akaashi 'Not Handsome' Keiji takes a seat. He's stiff. Calm, but not relaxed. 

That's more what I'm used to from a client. Good. It means he's normal after all.

"Let's get to the point," he continues. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a thick manila envelope, the blinds slicing the brown into lines dim and bright. He slides it across my table, shoving the newspaper and some of my trinkets aside. "A man was murdered in my house. I need you to prove I didn't do it, and, hopefully, find whoever did."

My, my. With a crime like that it's no wonder Shimizu sent him right in. I can't help the grin that spreads across my face, but I do stop myself from laughing. Some clients don't like that. "And how can I be sure you didn't kill him yourself? Murder seems like the kind of thing you'd go to the cops for, especially someone like yourself. We don't get many so clean and unmarked 'round these parts who don't have a friend or two in the force."

A scowl. He's even more handsome when he's angry, and he can tell I'm teasing. "I don't like playing games, Inspector."

"Call me Bokuto." I reach into my desk, retrieving my bottle of whiskey and a cup. Akaashi doesn't so much as twitch. Must be hard to be so stiff all the time. I, on the other hand, try and find humour where I can - hard as it is these days. After a moment, I pull out a second cup. "Would you like some? It'd help ease your nerves. A murder's a hard thing to witness for the first time."

"I don't drink." 

"Then perhaps-"

"If you're going to offer me a cigarette, I don't smoke, either." Cold, cold, cold. Chatting with him's like standing in a blizzard with your coat wide open. I pour myself a glass, stashing the bottle and the spare cup as Akaashi glares on. I believe him, about both points - he smells too good to have smoked a cigarette on his way in, and he seems too serious a man to want to indulge. He's clever. Hopefully not more than I am.

He waits, but I don't speak. I nurse the drink, reclining in my chair. I meet his gaze. He hasn't answered my question, and I'm not taking the envelope, or his case, until he does. 

His teeth grind when he finally replies, as if the information, the admission, is hard. "I didn't witness anything. I came home and he was dead in the living room. I have no alibi. And even if I did, I can't go to the police. I might not have grown up here, but I've been in the city long enough to learn its ways. I don't trust them."

"And you trust me?"

Silence, but for the rumble of thunder outside. I sip the drink, the burning in my throat keeping me alert as Akaashi ponders his answer. I can see it turning in his head, behind those mysterious eyes. 

"No," he says, the word a hammer, a clap of thunder on its own. His head tilts, and the light catches his eyes, and there's a storm brewing there to rival the one in the city. "But I don't need to trust you. I just need to pay you."

That's all I need to hear. I take the envelope, glancing inside, letting out a low whistle as my years of training quickly survey the amount in there. Akaashi's not fooling around. So I won't, either.

"Tell me everything," I say. I know he won't. No one ever does. But it's as good a place as any to start.

-

_The Present, Akaashi's Apartment_

As murders go, this one is brutal. Guy's been stabbed and sliced to death, falling on his stomach, and I'll have to roll him over to look for more clues. Nothing I haven't seen before, and nothing I enjoy. I worry about Akaashi. He's still behind me, getting none too close to the corpse, prepared to answer the questions as I throw them back to him. 

"Refresh my memory," I say, not needing my memory refreshed one bit. I'm growing fond of the sound of his voice. "You came home and he was here? No forced entry?"

"None." I wish he'd take that damn cloth from his face so I can hear him more clearly. I prod around with the pen a few more times, but there's little more to gather without seeing his other side. "And no one else has the key. I assume it's been copied, or the lock picked."

"I'd gather the latter. I checked the lock on the way in. It wouldn't be hard to pick. Once this is over, I'd invest in a deadbolt or two." I flash a grin, the one that often gets me a free drink at the bar, but Akaashi stoically doesn't react. Maybe I'm not his type. Might be the silver-black hair, parted on the side, slicked back against my head. Might be my rugged handsomeness and golden-brown skin. Might be the nasty scar running down the side of my head from temple to chin. It's always hard to tell. I straighten to my full height, almost half a foot taller than him, and nod at the body. "He's got no ID on him, but that doesn't mean I can't figure things out. But I'll have to flip the body."

Akaashi blinks. "Go right ahead."

"No, what I mean is..." I pause. I hum, low, tapping my lips with the clean part of the pen. "I'm not sure the sight's gonna be something you can handle. If this is the work of The Knife, for instance, your stomach will be doing flips for weeks. You can trust me to do my job. You don't have to watch it all happen."

"I'm not going to faint dead away, and I doubt a legendary assassin would want anything to do with me," Akaashi sighs. He knows I'm right, knows it it's worth the argument, so he doesn't bother putting one up. "I'll be in the kitchen, then. Let me know what you find."

He crosses the room, giving a wide berth to the corpse. I don't blame him. He enters through the open door leading to a small kitchenette, where he can sit with his back to me at the table there. His steps are graceful, measured. Silent. 

"Akaashi," I call. He turns his head, but not his body. There's only a corner of the corner of his eye showing. "You've told me everything?" 

A beat of silence as he draws the handkerchief away from his mouth. The smile is faint, but present. It lights his whole face. "Everything you need to know."

I wink, and grin, but he misses both as he turns away. I turn back, too. I suppose I've got to earn my wages sometime.

The corpse is large, but not heavy - someone as tall as me, but not as muscular. Flipping him is the easy part. He's definitely turned stiff, and while I'm not a coroner, it tells me a lot about the timing involved. I'd been right about the body itself: stab wounds lace up his chest in an erratic pattern, deep and dirty. I'd been joking when I brought up The Knife earlier, but this might well be their work. I'll need to keep that in mind, and I'm glad I sent Akaashi away. When I was younger, the sight of this would've left me yelling and gagging. I remember not leaving my room for a week the first time I saw a decapitation. Kuroo had to drag me out by the arm.

Now? I get to work. 

I open the blood soaked jacket, examining the outfit underneath. A waistcoat finer than my own, with a pocketwatch - gold - still tucked inside. The killer wasn't after riches, then, but I had a feeling they wouldn't be. No one dumps a body to frame a nobody without an ulterior motive. And since Akaashi isn't forthcoming with that motive, I hope the body gives some clues.

For the most part, I learn a great deal about Mr. Silver Hair's fashion sense, but not a lot about who he was. Still no ID, not even a receipt or scrap of paper to his name. Most of his clothes brand new besides the coat. Someone of wealth, but who liked to hide it from the casual observer. Someone who's wallet has definitely been lifted by the perp to hide the most obvious way to figure out who he is. 

Finding nothing in his shirts, I slide down, patting down his pants. At his ankle is a small holster, likely for a knife, though the weapon itself is gone. I lift his leg, turning it side to side, when a small flash catches my eye. There's a piece of metal attached to his sock - a pin, as I look closer. A small circle with two triangles on the top. A clue. I slip the pin off his sock and into a pocket. Perhaps the killer wasn't as thorough as they thought they were. 

There's nothing else, so I return to the most dreaded part of the search: a thorough examination of the wounds. I peel back the remaining layers of shirt, studying the angle of entry, the force, the bruising. There isn't enough blood around the floor for him to have been killed here. Someone did the deed elsewhere and carted the body to Akaashi's apartment, likely in a bag. Planned. Premeditated. Targeted.

I wish I had a damn idea what Akaashi's involvement is.

I've almost given up on finding any other clues when I see it. Caught in the folds of coat, almost completely covered in blood, is a sliver of metal. I crouch closer, pulling a handkerchief of my own from my pocket to wipe the blood. I study the object, the shape too strange to be an iron filing or a needle. My guess would be it's the point of a knife, broken, turned by a button or bone. It's not much. But it's enough for a start. I slip it into a bag, tucked into the same pocket as my two other clues, tucked into the same corner of my mind with the rest of the mystery. 

I stand. There's going to be little else I can do right now, not without more information. And, of course, there's a body to be disposed of without the cops knowing. Not anything I haven't done before - a skill from a different time. A different me. I'll need help, though, both for the information and the body. That means a call to Kuroo and a visit to the river. 

I watch Akaashi, silent, gathering my thoughts. He sits at his small table, eyes scanning a paper he's picked up from who knows where. His gun rests near his hand, still in its holster, but I somehow don't think that'd stop him if he needed to use it. True to his word, the cup beside him contains only water. 

He's innocent of this crime, that I'm sure of. But no one in this city is truly innocent. Not me, not him. It's just a matter of time until I find out what he's hiding. Until then, well... I'll do the job he's paying me for.

-

_One Hour Later, End Line River, The Abandoned Wharf_

Kuroo and I stare at the bubbles rolling across the surface of the water. The river reflects the industrial lights, the fog of the night, disguising the body weighed down and sinking into the depths. The cops won't drag the river for another month - their last before winter settles in and hell freezes over. By then I hope to be done with this case. By then I hope the body's unrecognizable.

Kuroo sighs, fingers falling into a practiced movement: from pocket to torso, flipping open a Spalding cigarette box. From torso to mouth, a casual gesture. He holds the box out to me without a word. I take one too. His lighter flashes, a sharp orange against the blue and black of the city. He exhales. The smoke disappears into the fog. 

It isn't until we're both half through our cigarettes that he turns his head over, black bangs brushing against his forehead. "Been a while since we had to move a body."

"Yeah," I reply. I watch the river lap the shore, the drudges of trash pushed into mud, dragged back out. "Been a while since I was on a murder."

"Why'd you take this one?" 

"Shimizu approved him, and I hired her for a reason. She was right. It's a doozy of a mystery. Been a while since I practiced all my skills at once."

"So he's good looking, then." Kuroo's grin is sly, and I bark out a laugh. He knows me well - and if it was anyone else, I'd say it was too well. Loyalty is as hard to find in this city as honesty, but with Kuroo I've got both, and I'll be damned before I lose it. It's what makes us such a good team.

"He's quite the looker. Dark eyes, curly hair, all sharp angles and no-nonsense." I take a final drag on the cigarette and flick it into the river. It sinks with a hiss. "Kinda guy you only dream of meeting, and the kinda guy who's gonna get eaten alive here."

"Oh? You're worried about him? You must really like him."

I'm not touching that one. "He's got a gun and knows how to shoot it. Question is if he knows when to." The breeze picks up and, in the same motion, Kuroo and I lift our collars to shield our necks. I wait for it to die down again before I speak. "He's hiding something from me. He was skittish around the body, but too calm all at the same time. I'm worried The Knife might be involved, but I don't know for sure it wasn't a random stabbing. I can't place it the pieces yet, so keep an eye out. Watch your back."

"Always do." Kuroo's turn to finish his cigarette. He grinds it beneath his heel, his worn shoes getting coated in another layer of mud. He doesn't have to worry about appearances. Not with his job. Nevertheless, he fixes the patched flat cap perched on his head as he continues. "So, Bo, I assume you need more from me than a second set of hands to dump a corpse. What'd you find?"

"Something strange." I pull out the pin from my pocket, holding it to catch the light. Kuroo's eyebrows shoot up, and he takes the pin carefully, turning it over in long, slender fingers. "Found it on the body, attached to the sock. I've never seen one before, and I'm hoping you have."

"I haven't." Blunt and to the point. Kuroo flashes a grin, and it's got no humour. His eyes watch the ripples on the water, the fog rolling thicker and thicker through the air. "But I should know someone who has. He was your contact first, after all."

They all were. I was the one who passed them to Kuroo when I gave up his job, our job, to be an investigator. I'd gone straight - or I'm trying to, and I'll be damned if I don't keep trying. I glance out the corner of my eye. Kuroo's face is worn and tired, the circles under his eyes as dark as the night sky we can't see.

"You know, Kuroo... if you ever want to get out, I could always use a partner." I look again, but Kuroo has no mind for me as he mulls my words. I feel the answer in the way he shifts his feet, the way his jaw sets steady. 

"The Calico and Eagle-Owl, together again?" His laugh rings hollow, as full of the dregs as the river before us. "Bo, you know both of us can't get outta here. Not like that. I count it a blessing every day of my damn life that you made yourself something better than what you were. 'Sides, if they trust me, they won't go after you." He draws out another cigarette, lights it, lets the smoke fill the air the silence brings. The smell is harsh and familiar. I wind my hands in each other, try and focus on the pain. I don't look over. "Let me handle what I can handle. You keep trying to keep your head in the clear. Deal?"

"Deal." There's nothing else I can say, and he's right - I can call in my own favours, but that's a one-time cash out. Kuroo can keep the information flowing for both of us... at a price. One he's willing to keep paying. One I gave up, years ago. 

The conversation's over, and we both know it. It's time for me to leave. When I turn on my heel, he doesn't say goodbye, and neither do I. I walk until the streetlights flood the fog with yellows, haunt the sidewalks with shadows. I walk until the night swallows Kuroo behind me. I walk until the city, looming and empty, swallows me too. 

-

_Two Days After the Case Opens, Bokuto's Office_

My door swings open without a knock. I lift my eyes from my studies: the metal shard that's too perfect to be common, the cigarette that's the wrong colour for every brand I've checked. I've told Shimizu not to let anything disturb me, so I assume it'll be her bursting through with urgent news. But that would be too easy, too simple. The city loves its twists and turns. 

Akaashi Keiji stands in the doorway, already pulling off his gloves and hat like I've invited him in. Different coat this time around - navy blue, double breasted. No tie - and he hadn't had one last time I saw him, either, looking back. I always wear one while I'm working, but a clip on, just in case. Old habits die hard. His gaze is as fierce as ever, highlighted by a slit in the blinds, lips parted ever so slightly as he watches me watch him. The hands that hold his gloves shakes. 

"Can I help you?" I ask. I gesture for him to sit, sliding a newspaper over top of the cigarette butt. My instincts tell me not to trust him with that clue, not until I know more about it. "If you're worried about your case, be assured it's my top priority. Your money has not gone to waste."

"I believe in your skills, Bokuto. I'm just wondering after results. Do you have any leads?" There it is again, as he sits, as he folds his hands on the desk. A quiver that wasn't with him the last time he was here. His eyes that dart over my desk, not with curiosity, but with strain. Desperation. 

Something happened. 

I shift, my body on full alert. I check my side holster, the motion barely conscious, and I run through the location of the two other guns in my office. But another glance around tells me no one else is there, and whatever happened to Akaashi isn't here with him. Besides, if anyone was, Shimizu would have shot them before they entered. That's why I hired her. I don't relax, though. I doubt I will again until after I've solved the case. 

"Akaashi..." I say, keeping my voice calm and serious, "the moment I know something worth telling you, I'll tell you. I have your number and your address. I've got things under control. This will take time." I reach across and pat his hands. He rolls his eyes, but doesn't draw back. Maybe my wily charms are working after all. "Now, if there's something you know that might explain why you're nervous... or if there's something you may have... shall we say 'forgotten' to tell me... that may speed things along. Understand?"

Oh, he understands, alright. I can see the understanding flicker through his face, an emotion he clamps down on almost before it arises. He's very good at it, and must be under a lot of pressure to slip up like that. He draws his hands back to his lap, smoothing the creases of his gloves. His mouth twitches, and I wonder if he's going to say something. I hope he will.

The phone rings. I let it sound, once, twice, but it must have startled Akaashi. He swallows his words, his emotions. He goes stone cold all over again. Damn. I'd been so close. 

I pick up the receiver, my eyes still watching him. "Yes?" I ask. It'll be Shimizu. It always is. 

"Kuroo," is the clipped reply. She puts the call through. It's another two rings before the line clicks, before I hear the rustling of the world outside. I wonder where Kuroo's calling from this time.

"Bokuto here," I say. "What is it?"

"Usual place. An hour. I've got news." The receiver on the other end slams down, and I almost jolt away from the one in my hand. It must be bad for Kuroo not to risk saying it over the line and then end the call so abruptly. I raise my eyebrows, though, nodding along, acting for the world like he's still on the line. 

"See you then," I reply, more for Akaashi's sake than my own. I place the phone down, gentle, and address him. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave. I may have some information for you soon. I may not. Either way, I need to follow up on this lead, and I can't let my clients linger here without me." 

I get up and walk across the room, grabbing my black coat off the hanger and throwing it on. I tighten the belt, and, not having heard Akaashi stand, look over my shoulder. He's just getting to his feet, hands tucking into his pockets with a haste I'm not used to from him. I narrow my eyes. There's something there, but that low voice cuts into my thoughts before I can explore the idea. 

"Let me come with you," he says, and it's somewhere between an ask and a plea, hovering just on the border of being both. Those hints of desperation come back, and I'm struck for the thousandth time just how good looking he is, and how unfair it is life throws me at him in the middle of a murder when I could've met him in a bar - though, I suppose, he doesn't drink. I scratch my scar. He must know the answer I'm going to say as he crosses the room, stopping only a few steps away from me. Up close, those eyes are even more dangerous, sharp and beautiful, framed with long lashes and deep mysteries. "I want to help, Bokuto. I want to solve this. I need to."

So very, very dangerous. It ripples off him, like the splash of the body in the river, like rain against glass. But the answer, for now, is the same. "Get yourself home, Akaashi. You can't help anything if you're dead. It's a dark city, and it won't spare you."

"I know," he murmurs. Those eyes drop, a weight pressing his head down. He does know. I put my hand on his back and press him towards the door. He doesn't protest, or flinch, or complain. He lets my hand linger until we're out the door, long past Shimizu at reception, heading down the hall to the elevator. His frown grows when I pull away to hit the elevator button, and that small chance I might have with him flickers back to life. I wonder about the last time he's touched anyone.

I wonder if he's got any friends left in the world.

-

_One Hour Later, The Usual Place_

Kuroo thrusts the bottle into my hand the moment I turn into the alley behind Dick's Bar. I take it without thinking, but my eyebrows arch. He only leads with a drink when things are bad. Real bad. It's light enough for him to have started drinking without me. An even worse sign.

"What're we looking at here? Who was he?" I take a swig, and the whiskey burns, but it won't burn as much as Kuroo's words. His face is ashen, even in the low light. I wonder how my own looks. "Kuroo?"

"It's bad, Bo. That trinket wasn't just something fun or fashionable. It's a mark. A brand new one." Kuroo's brown eyes are darker than the night. "Your strange murder just got even higher stakes. That pin's the new mark of Nekoma's elites. That guy was a mobster, Bo. A Nekoma mobster."

That's the thing about a city like this: the truth is always darker than you expect. I take another drink, longer, deeper. I close my eyes tight, my breath shallow, echoing Kuroo's. The alcohol stings, and it won't be enough to settle things, to settle me, not by a long shot. But it's a start. 

A dead mobster. Fucking hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be 3 totals chapter - 1 approx. every week until it's done (pending life!) :) as always catch me on twitter [@tamocch!](https://twitter.com/tamocch)


	2. no stranger to taking a life

_Three Days After the Case Opens, Morimoto's Café_

I flick the edge of my newspaper without reading it. There's a cup of coffee in front of me, two sugars, barely touched. The heat wisps off it, a white fog over a white mug. I bought it to have a reason to be here, though the real reason to be here hasn't yet arrived. I'd acted fast with Kuroo's information. Time would tell if it was fast enough.

The thoughts that have haunted me since last night run on an endless loop. How had Akaashi gotten on the bad side of one of the biggest mobs in the city? Who had ordered the hit on the Nekoma man in the first place? Is this why Akaashi needed to avoid the cops? Who was he, really? Should I drop the case? - yet in my mind I see the man fidgeting at my desk, desperate for help, desperate to be cleared. I've never let down a client, and I'm not about to start, reservations or no about his innocence. He needs help. He needs me. 

Despite Kuroo's insistence to let him investigate alone, to let him use his mob ties, I knew it wouldn't be enough - not with one of them dead. They might not even talk to him if things are tense. They'd cut us out many times before - but thankfully there were times they couldn't. Times like those lead to a boon, and the one thing the mobs all hate is being in debt, especially to someone like me. So I'd cashed in a favour to speed things along.

And any minute now, a Karasuno mobster would be here to answer my questions. 

I sip my coffee, glancing out the window to the street. A light rain falls, masking the other side of the street. Loose papers stick to grey sidewalk slabs, deep puddles disguising the street. My umbrella sits under my chair, damp and black. The few people who wander by don't look around or stop. That's true of the city in any weather. It's best not to make ripples on your own.

Aside from Nekoma and Karasuno, there are two other major mobs that might be involved: Aoba Josai, to the south of the city, and Fukurodani, from across the river. They each have their stick, their persona, their specialties. They're all full of dangerous criminals, pulling the strings of the city with folks none the wiser, not until a shootout erupts or a turf war begins. 

And they'd all looked to the same duo for information and leads, to pay for tips on the cops' movements, to get keys copied and have rivals... disappear. The Calico and Eagle-Owl. I'd hoped to never have to fall back on that time, hoped my struggle to make a new name for myself would free me. But the city has a long memory, and you can never truly escape your past. It finds its way of bubbling up, months down the line, like a body in the river. Bloated and changed, a sight that sickens you to your core - but one you know. One you know all too well.

A bell dings and I slide my eyes over to the door, where a man closes his large umbrella. Dressed in an almost identical tan jacket to mine, a dark paisley patterned tie just peaking out of the gap at the top where he's left a button open. His dark grey hair is parted down the middle. A mole sits on his cheek, matching the spark in his eyes. He peels off his leather gloves, a finger at a time. Karasuno must remember me fondly to send Sugawara Koushi to chat. He catches my eye and smiles. I return it.

He sits down across from me, smooth and practiced, the smile never wavering and never leaving his eyes. He pulls out a box of cigarettes, though his hand obscures the brand. He offers me one, and I take it, absent, having a pack of my own in my pocket. I'll get to it once my coffee's done. I place it on the saucer, taking another sip as Sugawara lights up, taping the excess ash into the small, dirty tray in the middle of the table. 

He waits two more breaths before he speaks. "I never expected I'd get to talk with you like this again, Eagle-Owl. Since you went straight we haven't heard from you much. Well, straight in _one_ sense."

"It's Bokuto. Having a real job means I need a real name, you know? Sadly hasn't helped me land a guy, though." The joke comes easy. Sugawara even laughs, but his eyes tell me he isn't going to think of me differently. I'll never be Bokuto, not to him. I clear my throat. This is a business meeting, not some quick chat over drinks. "You know why I'm here. I need information."

"And The Calico can't get it for you?"

"Cal's working on something else." It's an answer, and honest, even if it lacks in details. I'm still good at giving those. Sugawara nods, ever so slightly. A test, of sorts, to see if I'd betray our mutual contact. To see if I'd turn on Kuroo. "Besides, you owe me for the Mixed Might Caper cover-up. Help me with this, I consider Karasuno in the clear. I get what I want, you lose the biggest favour over your head. Deal?"

"Deal." Sugawara relaxes in his seat, cigarette loose between his fingers. The smoke trails up, curling around his face. "What've you got for me?"

"A murder." I place the coffee down, and the cigarette rolls around my saucer. I pick it up, careful, and tuck it into my pocket. I'll smoke it later. I pull out a small bag from my jacket pocket - the one containing the fragment of the knife. "A Nekoma mobster was found dead. I found this with the body. Part of the murder weapon - a blade, probably some kind of knife. Karasuno smuggles in half the weapons in this city, and I'm hoping you can lead me to its origin... or offer some insight who favours it." 

I offer it out. Sugawara sits up to take it from my hand. He keeps it in the bag, drawing it close to his grey-brown eyes. He's still, for a moment, studying it methodically, and then something clicks. I can see the shift in his face: subtle, disturbed. He slides me the bag back and scrambles into the inside of his own coat. He puts a bag of his own beside the ashtray. 

A chunk of metal, much larger than my own, still sharp and deadly and stained with blood. Even though weapons aren't my specialty I can damn well tell it's the same make. Sugawara speaks as I examine it. "It's a special pattern. Folded metal, but designed for a knife, not a longer blade. You can even see the pattern on the small piece you have." His lips draw tight, and he grinds the cigarette, only half finished, into the tray. The colour of it looks off, though that may be the harsh light and the rain behind us. "That's from a hit on our turf not even a week ago. Same blade. Same killer."

"Someone's taking out mobsters."

Sugawara nods. He draws the piece of metal back to his chest. He glances around, left and right, but Morimoto's is as safe a place as any to discuss this. The man owes me more favours than he can count, and no one else in here would dare breathe a word. Sugawara leans across the table, and I lean in, too.

"The hit was on Sawamura Daichi, the man favoured to be the next leader of Karasuno. We found him dead in one of our safe houses. He was also... outspoken, about certain changes in the air."

I cock my head to the side. Changes were rarely good when they involved the mob, but the information wouldn't hurt. "Oh?"

Sugawara shifts on his seat, turning up the sides of his collar. "I'm only telling you this because I trust you to keep a secret, Eagle-Owl-Bokuto. Word on the street is Fukurodani and Nekoma were going to form an alliance. We've always been friendly with Nekoma, and Daichi was helping them on the side. The plan was for them to team up and get some new turf and split the profits." His eyes flash, and it isn't with a smile. "I'm sure you've got a pretty good idea from who they would take it."

"Reckon I do." There's one mob that would stand to lose from an alliance of the other three, alright. Aoba Josai facing a fight that vastly outguns its own powerful mob. How else could they retaliate without huge losses? Spare some fighting, some lives. If they'd hit key players in all the mobs, the alliance would stall out, and Aoba Josai walks out on top - so long as they made sure to take out anyone that noticed. Aoba Josai is clever enough to get away with something like that, too.

I bite my lip. Things are restless in the city, more than I feared. 

The information answers one question, but not others. I have a lead, but it won't be enough to solve everything - or to know Akaashi's involvement. Yet I can't bring the question up. Sugawara is a good contact, and loyal - but loyal to his mob, not to me. There's no telling what he'd do with the information, what he'd do to Akaashi, if I let slip something I shouldn't. Sugawara watches me think, pulling on his gloves, slowly, patiently. Behind me, the rain angles, pattering into the window, a beat without start or end or pattern. If I want something more, I'll need to give a little more. 

And there's only one more question I can ask.

"Who's blade is it?" If I can unravel that question, the lead will have more weight, and, at least, I'll know what we're up against. From the way Sugawara's eyes slide around the room, I know it's the question he expected. I know it's a question he can answer. I'm afraid it's a question I've already guessed.

"Who else but The Knife?" Sugawara bends under the table, hand latching onto his umbrella, using it to push himself out of the chair. "As you said, I handle half the weapons in the city, and there's only one person who uses something like that." He turns to go, pauses, and glances down at me. I glance right back up. "I'd warn you not to go after Seijoh for confirmation, but... knowing you, you wouldn't listen. When the Eagle-Owl's on the hunt, he rarely stops until he has his prey." He laughs. I laugh. Neither of us mean it. "If you need to look, go right to Oikawa, their leader. He'll know - he might even tell you. Bit of a bragger, that one, though we rarely deal with him if we can avoid it. All the same... do watch your back. Karasuno is still fond of you. We'd hate to see you dead."

Those are his final words, and with them, he walks away from the table. I watch him cross the room, follow him with my eyes as the bell sounds his exit, as, in a fluid motion, he opens the umbrella over his head. Sugawara doesn't look back. He doesn't look around. He doesn't look for one second like he's carrying two guns, like he could easily kill anyone walking past him. He walks with purpose, determination, as if he'd never left the street. If anyone asked him, I'm sure he'd say we'd never even met. 

I trace the rim of my coffee cup, cooled and tasteless. I lost a favour, but gained a lead, one I desperately needed. Now, at least, I know what I'm neck deep in: a case with four huge mobs wanting for turf, the most notorious assassin the city's ever seen on the loose and likely tethered to Aoba Josai, and a stranger with a handsome face and a mysterious past that's somehow at the center of it.

Behind me, the rain falls, and falls, and falls. 

-

_Two Hours After Meeting Sugawara, Bokuto's Office_

"I've got a lead."

Kuroo sighs on the other end of the phone. I can imagine him shaking his head, taking a long drag of a cigarette. "Why does it somehow not surprise me you did the one thing I told you not to? Was the little crow helpful, then?"

"Of course he was. He owed me big." I twirl the cable of the phone around my fingers, watching it spring back when I relax my hand. The rain hasn't let up, and my office is dark, save for my desk lamp bathing the room yellow and the faint white light from under the door, from Shimizu's desk just beyond. "It's worse than we thought, Kuroo. All the mobs are restless. Something's going down. I'm hearing talks of alliances, turf wars... everything."

"I've been hearing rumours of the same thing from my contacts, but no one would confirm. Everyone's angry at everyone else, but they're not willing to say much. I hate to admit it, but think you got more outta that crow than I did on my end." 

Eagle-Owl still has some uses, then, however much we both wish he didn't. A thought flickers to the front of my mind. "Ah... then you probably haven't heard. The crows think that Seijoh's the one behind the assassinations. That The Knife's in their pocket. Also, Sawamura was killed last week, same way as our Nekoma friend in my client's house. I-"

"Sawamura? Daichi?" There's a trace of surprise in Kuroo's voice, and that's not something I expect. I sit up straighter in my chair, leaning into the receiver to listen. "I could have sworn I saw him when I was at a Karasuno front yesterday. You're saying he's dead?"

"I haven't been able to confirm it. I had to follow up some other points before I called you." The latest territory boundaries of the mobs, double checking the locations of the safe houses that Oikawa frequents, a few calls here and there to assure me that he'll be in one of them. "They may have brought out a look alike, to try and trick everyone. He was their favourite for the next leader."

"I don't like this, Bo. Not one bit." The edge on his voice is the same shuddering I feel in my chest. I don't like it either, but we don't have enough information. Neither of us. "I can check out the Sawamura double on my end. Knowing you, you've got other plans."

"I do."

"Bring an extra gun. Oikawa might have been chummy with you, more than usual for an informant - but don't forget, he's a real sly bastard. If The Knife's in his pocket, I definitely wouldn't cross him. Especially if you're going to accuse him of murder." A pause. "Are you set on confronting him?"

"I am. You know I need the confirmation about if he hired The Knife for the Nekoma hit. Sugawara's good, but I can't do anything based on just his word."

"And you're really doing all this, risking pissing off a mob, just to clear Akaashi's name?" Kuroo's voice is harsh, but it doesn't make me angry. It makes me think. I mull my words carefully, rolling them in my head. It's my job to follow up on this for Akaashi's sake, but that's not my only reason. Not anymore. Not after what Sugawara told me. 

"No. It's not just for him - though I need to find something to convince Nekoma he's innocent if they come calling on him. He didn't kill that mobster. I know he didn't. And beyond that... the mobs' unrest, The Knife... everything's tied around this case. If we can solve this, maybe we can prevent them demolishing each other. Maybe we can keep this city alive a little longer." My fist clenches. The phone cable cuts into my fingers. "Maybe it's not too late to get Akaashi out, before he's in too deep."

"You want to save him." Kuroo's voice softens. He understands what I haven't said: that no matter what we do, no matter who we anger, no matter what damn job I decide to do: it's too late for the two of us. But it might not be too late for someone like Akaashi. Not if I can do my job.

"I have to try," I reply. My eyes glance to the clock. I've spoken too long already - if I'm going to confront Oikawa, it has to be soon. "That's all for now. Let me know about Sawamura. I'll let you know if I find anything else. If I'm not back by the evening, leave a message with Shimizu."

"If you're not back by then, Bo, you won't be coming back."

The receiver clicks on the other end. I let the cord untangle itself from my fingers, slow, twisting. I don't quite slam it down, but I'm not gentle, either. I know the risks. And I will come back. I have to. 

The rain is my companion as I wrap up my preparations. At Kuroo's request, I strap a second gun to my shoulder holster. One on either side, though I'm only a good shot with my right hand. Back up ammo. The tie comes off - clip on or not, it'll only slow me down. My well-worn grey fedora, pulled low, my tan jacket from the morning, collar high. The bag with the knife fragment to my inside pocket, the bag with the cigarette-

Missing. 

I turn over the clutter on my desk, moving it around, but the bag isn't there. It's definitely not where I tucked it away yesterday under the newspaper. It's not in either of my coats. My frown creases my face. I _know_ I left it in here, like I know Shimizu wouldn't have taken it. I couldn't have lost it, either, leaving me with two options: I'd missed it somewhere in the room, or someone had taken it.

The clock ticks loud on the wall and the rain hammers my window as I scratch my scar, tug my ear. If it's the former, I'll have to finish my search when I return. If it's the latter, well - I'll never be able to investigate. And we'll need new locks. I'll tell Shimizu about it before I go.

I grab my umbrella and push out of my office. Shimizu looks up from her desk, dark hair pulled into a bun, her thin rimmed glasses flashing. Her grey eyes watch me lock the door. She's in a checkered blazer, a white blouse, a black pencil skirt. She looks every inch like she could kill me despite being over a foot shorter than I am - which is why I like her. No one, and nothing, gets past her. 

"We need new locks. I'm not going to chance there was a break in, even though I haven't confirmed it. Better safe than sorry." She nods, pulling a pen from behind her ear and making a note on the small clipboard in front of her. "And Kuroo may call," I continue, tucking my door key in my back pocket. "If he does, don't let him talk. Tell him I'll call him back. I don't want you taking notes for an hour. You know he likes to chat."

"Yes, he does," she replies, her tone dry enough to let me know she thinks the same of me. I flinch, pretending to stumble back, hands on my chest. She shakes her head, waves her hand towards the exit. "Be careful, Bokuto."

"Always am." I nod to her and shuffle my way out of the reception. I make my way over to the elevator, running through the map in my head. I'll hail a cab, pay in cash, get myself close enough to the safe house to sneak in without raising any flags. I'm not sure what Oikawa will say, or do - or even if he'll be at the first place I check. But the mystery will have one less shadow soon. I'm getting close.

So very close.

The elevator dings open, and though I'm ready to step my way in, I freeze. It's not empty. Standing there, in a grey Homburg hat and a damp, double-breasted navy coat, is my client, Akaashi Keiji.

I'm not sure which one of us is more startled: him, framed in the single bulb of the elevator, mouth parted ever so slightly, or me, haloed by the lights down the hall, hand inside my jacket for my gun before I'm even aware of reaching for it. We stare at each other, amber eyes meeting black - or, as I watch, as they catch the light, I wonder if they might be green. 

The elevator doors start to close, and I thrust my umbrella in to stop them, drawing my hand free from my gun. Akaashi twists through the gap, light on his feet, water spraying off him in the movement. When he looks up at me, his face is pinched, as if he hasn't slept - yet he's lost none of his beauty, none of his charm.

All the same, he isn't supposed to be here, and I don't have time to chat.

"Akaashi-" I start, but I cut myself off as he grabs my arm. I see the flash, same as the day before: emotion he can't clamp down on in time spreading across his face. Fear. Dread. A flicker of relief. They leak from his fingers, digging into my arm, my coat. I let him hang on. I might be the only lifeline he's got left. "Akaashi, I told you I'd contact you if I found out anything. It's not safe for you to be wandering around here, coming after me."

"I don't think it's much safer for me in my home," comes the low reply. His voice is snappy, dry, and I deserve the tell off: a body was dumped there, after all. He glances at his hand, and blinks, startled to find it so firmly attached to my arm. He pulls back as fast as he can, exhaling loudly, rubbing his hand on his leg as if nothing happened. His cheeks are flushed pink, and not from the rain or the cool air. "Sorry."

I want nothing more than to kiss him, right then and there, but I don't. I can't. I definitely can't.

"Don't worry about it." I wink, and he sighs, and I wish we could go on like that for another hour - joking, flirting, the whole nine yards. But there's a case I need to solve, and mobs he needs to hide from, and time never slows down, not when you want it to. Right now it's burning, a mile a minute, and if I don't get out soon, there won't be anything left for me to find. I shake my head, clear my throat. "Akaashi, I can't stay. I'm working the case right now, and I need to go. Get home. Get that deadbolt. Keep your gun close. I'll have answers soon."

"Let me come with you." The same question as before - he's persistent, I'll give him that. This time, though, when our eyes meet, his gaze slips down to the floor. His shoulders shake despite his efforts to still them. It's eating him up inside - the case, the city, the burden he carries, but refuses to share. This city's darkness is too much for him. I wonder why the hell he ever came.

"Akaashi," I say, and I keep my voice quiet this time. I reach out, touching his chin, and, when he doesn't look away, I tilt his face up. The darkness is back in his eyes, the refusal to let anything show, and I know it's an effort to keep it up. He's trying so hard to keep me out, even as he asks me to come in. "I'm on your side, best I can be. You know that. I know you know that. You're smart, and clever, but whatever's going on, you're in over your head. I've been there, too. But you can still get out. I can help you, if you'll let me. If you tell me what's going on."

The pause is long. I see his face twitch, see the struggle behind his eyes. For a moment, I wonder if he's going to cry - and just like that, he blinks it back. His breath is shuddering, deep. His voice shakes, but the words are clear. "I can't." 

"You can."

"No. I can't." He pushes my hand away - gently. His hands are cold against mine, his fingers slender. He turns, and I let him. I let him slam the button for the elevator, let him stew in his silence, let him clench his hands in fists and pretend I'm not there, waiting behind him. I can't force him to talk, but he must know I'll find out sooner or later. I've already told him I'm heading out on a lead. It's his last chance for honesty, and I wish, more than anything, more than I want to kiss him, more than I want to leave the city, that he'd take it.

But he doesn't have to trust me. He just has to pay me.

We don't speak the entire ride down the elevator. He turns up his collar as he steps out ahead of me, for some reason lacking an umbrella. Before us, beyond the broad glass doors, stretches the street, dark with rain. Shadows flicker and cars roar by, splashing the sidewalk. Black cars, black pavement, black water. 

Akaashi walks to the doors, hand on the handle, and he stops. First his eyes, then head, then body turn back to me, a few steps behind. I see the flicker again, watch him tilt his head back, crafting his words in his mind before he speaks them.

"It's... it's too late for me, Bokuto. Anything I tell you... " He makes that low voice carry, fills it with all the emotion he's keeping from his face. It casts a spell over me, freezing me to the spot, fixing him in my mind. I can't look away from that dangerous sadness, those disarming eyes. "You can't save me."

The same words come to me, the ones I'd spoken to Kuroo not twenty minutes ago - ones that feel much older, much farther away. "I have to try."

Akaashi smiles - a genuine smile, one that spreads up his face, one that brings that light back in his eyes. They _are_ green: dark and deep, a forest, a distance. A smile that bright could blind me, blind the whole damn city. It's more stunning than his voice, more beautiful than the few days a year we get to see the sun set and rise, more captivating than all those reds and pinks and yellows combined. I wish I had a camera, anything, to let me capture that moment, to let me keep it with me, tucked in my chest. But all I'll have is the memory.

He says nothing else before he pushes the door open and steps onto the street. The rain shields him, hides him, snuffs the light he carries inside, like a cigarette ground into dust. He never looks back, not even when I step out, not even when I hail a cab. I never look away, not until his figure disappears around the corner of the street, not until the rain washes both of us away.

-

_One Hour After Leaving Akaashi, The Safe House_

Kuroo has a game he plays when he's around me. He calls it 'Something's Wrong'. He says there's this expression I make, somewhere between bafflement and constipation - his exact words, mind - that I get when I don't like something. Ever since he pointed it out, I can't help but notice when I make it. I wrinkle my nose, narrow my eyes. Sometimes I make a humming noise. Kuroo considers it the non-verbal equivalent of the phrase 'Something's wrong', which, in this city, is something we both say far too often.

He'd have a field day playing as I enter the safe house. Expression hasn't left my damn face since I stepped outta the cab.

For starters, there's no one around. That's not surprising for your average joe - the south's been abandoned for the better part of five years - except, of course, for the dealers, the smugglers, and Aoba Josai. They're usually crawling around the shadows, looking for intruders, seeing what they want. Watching for people like me. 

I should have been stopped twenty minutes ago, long before I ever pushed open the door to the safe house. I should've been met there by five toughs, guns blazing, shouting questions or demands. Instead, as I slip into the room, gun first, I find nothing.

A second glance proves nothing to be the wrong word. From the cloudy light shining in behind me, I can see a scattering of bullets and papers, a chair overturned. Bottles smashed in corners. The room reeks of alcohol, but there's not so much as a trace of smoke. It's been empty for a few hours, and whoever left seems to have gone in a rush. It's a hundred, a thousand times worse than I expected. I leave my umbrella by the doorway. The water puddles beneath it, mixing with the alcohol and refuse. I'll either be getting it on my way out, or I won't need it anymore.

I go deeper into the mystery, deeper into the house, deeper into the darkness. I sweep the room, following the path I planned out from my maps, from my memory. It's been a while since I've walked this place, but not so long I don't know what floorboards creak the most, how to open the doors without the hinges squeaking. Each room I enter reveals the same as the last: a place abandoned, recently, and with haste. Things aren't looking well for my visit. 

I step into the next room, and as my eyes scan, I finally find something I can use. The door on the far right has a ring of light around it - the first light I've seen in the whole building that doesn't come from the boarded up windows. I can't hear anything, but that doesn't mean it's empty. I cross the room, careful of the bottles and scrap that might scuff under my feet. I press my ear against the door, listening. Still nothing. I try the handle, and it turns in my hand, gentle and silent.

Naturally, I twist it full speed, throwing the door back on its hinges. I level my gun, fluid, as I enter the light. It's in place before I'm even ready, instinct guiding it to where I know it needs to be. Indeed, as my eyes adjust to the brightness, I see the man I came for, pinpoint in my crosshairs.

Oikawa Tooru is not alone - he rarely is. Beside him is his burly bodyguard and partner Iwaizumi, dressed in a short jacket and a dark turtleneck. He nods to me as if he's pleased to see me, as if I don't have a gun trained on his boyfriend/boss' forehead. Oikawa, for his part, lounges on a ripped up red chair, fingers laced on his chest like he's taking a damn nap. His hat rests on his knee, his suit jacket open, tie undone. One eye's cracked open. He watches me. He smiles. 

Never a good sign.

"My old, dear friend, Eagle-Owl," he purrs. He sweeps the hat onto his head, sitting forward in the chair. It creaks under the movement, the stuffing poking out a bit further from the holes. "I was starting to think you weren't going to show up. I've been waiting here all _day_."

"It's Bokuto," I say. My arm is steady, my breaths even. I don't break eye contact.

"You can call yourself whatever name you fancy, but we both know who you are underneath your flashy smiles and cute little private investigator business. Don't we, Iwa?" He turns, flashing that smile at Iwaizumi, who pointedly starts staring at his nails. Oikawa frowns, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to me. "Don't mind him. He's just mad because I made him wait here with me all day."

I don't say anything in reply to that comment. I wait as he shifts, standing, stretching his arms over his head. He's clearly unarmed, but I doubt Iwaizumi has any less than three guns hidden under that jacket. I follow Oikawa's head with my rifle, but I don't plan on firing. Not until he talks. "You're leaving." A statement, not a question. 

Oikawa nods. "I'd be afraid for your skills if you hadn't even noticed _that_. Of course we're leaving. We're clearing out of the city for good. Aoba Josai is moving to greener pastures, so to speak. Not that the cities around here have much in the way of pastures." He steeples his fingers, tapping his thumbs together. His smile twists into a smirk. 

It doesn't fit, and he knows it. There'd be no reason to cause chaos in the Nekoma and Fukurodani alliance if they'd been planning to leave. I'm missing something, as much as I hate to admit it, and the only source I've got to try and piece things out is an untrustworthy, sly man, currently playing with the ends of his tie. The question on my mind feels like a trap, like there's a gun trained against my head instead of me training one on him. I don't have a choice. I need to know. 

I can't help Akaashi otherwise. 

"Why did you hire The Knife to pull hits on Nekoma and Karasuno?" I ask. Oikawa laughs, the sound deafening and strange in the broken room. I tighten my grip, lock my elbow. Finger on the trigger. "I mean it, Oikawa. Answer."

"Come, now, we both know you won't shoot." There's a glint in his eyes, a pleasure. "You're a good detective, Eagle-Owl, but you're too trusting. It's always been your downfall. But since you were so kind as to ask, I'll tell you the little bit of information you've got wrong that should explain everything to you."

"Oh?"

"I didn't hire The Knife."

I didn't know what to have expected, but it hadn't been that. It's my turn to laugh. It's dry. "Really. The man with the most to lose from an alliance didn't hire the killer in the middle of ruining it. I may be trusting, Oikawa, but I'm not stupid. You're going to have to give me some proof if you expect me to believe you."

"Proof? The only proof you need is the knowledge that I would _never_ make a play so obvious. You're talking to the man who moved a whole mob in a day without anyone noticing, after all! Besides, I have no squabble with Karasuno. I don't deal with little crows." Oikawa taps his temple and winks at me. I scowl. That's my move. "Did Karasuno put you up with that information? They must have. Nekoma and Fukurodani are probably still too busy pointing fingers and threatening each other to remember there are other mobs in the city." Oikawa picks at his collar, adjusts his hat. "Regardless, they'll eventually pin the blame on me - unfairly, of course, which is why I've packed up and left. You should have noticed it was too simple a plot to be me. You _know_ this city's never simple. Surely you haven't forgotten that."

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Oikawa _should_ be the one calling the shots, but, as much as I hate it, I hear the truth in his voice, his actions. He can't be behind this. He's too clever, too smart to get caught in a trap - a trap Karasuno had fallen for, too. The pattern makes sense - more sense than I'd like to admit, all laid out for me in the broken, abandoned strong hold of Aoba Josai. 

But something still nags at me. The connection between Akaashi and Nekoma and the body still looms as the unknown that need be known. My arm quivers. My eye twitches. I long to scratch my scar, but I don't dare move. I need more time to think, to review the case, start to end. To straighten a quickly rolling world. I need-

"You've gotten sloppy," Oikawa murmurs, his quiet voice piercing my mind. "The old you never would've looked so lost and confused. You're missing the answer on purpose, Eagle-Owl. I've given you more than enough to work with. Perhaps you're a little too close to the case? Not surprising - you were always a sucker for a looker. Iwa, remember the time we tricked him into tailing the wrong car for four hours with that handsome man?" He glances at Iwaizumi, who pointedly checks his watch and raises his eyebrows. Oikawa waves his hand in the air. "Alright, alright, I'll move things along. Let me give you a final hint, then, for old times' sake. We were friends, weren't we? 

Were we? I'm not sure. Oikawa doesn't seem to notice my confusion, my hesitation. He speaks.

"How does Fukurodani fit into this?"

"They're forming an alliance with Nekoma," I reply. I don't understand the point of the question. "Oikawa, if you're dicking me around-"

"Bokuto Koutarou, I may be the only person besides Calico and your very beautiful secretary who's been honest with you in the past week." His voice goes hard, hard as steel. "Now pull your head out of your ass and think. You know who's been lying to you. I know you do."

I run over his words in my head. Nekoma and Fukurodani are arguing, fighting each other... something there, something about that nags at me. Nekoma should be mad at Akaashi, not at another mob. Nekoma had no reason to believe Fukurodani was behind the attack - if anything, their first guess should have been Aoba Josai, like Sugawara's guess. Like my guess. Yet Oikawa's telling me the two mobs are at each other's throats already, not even considering the involvement of The Knife or Seijoh. As much as I hate to admit it, there's no reason for him to stick around just to lie to me. There must be truth somewhere in his words, a reason for Nekoma to be angered, a tie to Fukurodani hidden in plain sight I hadn't considered. It would mean-

Oh, no.

It would mean that Oikawa was right - that I was a sucker for a looker, one with the power to blind me, and blind me he had. It would mean I'd wasted time following a lead that wasn't a lead, finding a truth I couldn't pry out of him. It would mean that the sick reality of the city holds true, no matter where you go or how far you run. 

The truth is always darker than you expect.

"Who is Akaashi?" I ask. I don't want to know the answer. All I want is to hold onto the moments I've had, brief and beautiful, with a man the city hasn't stained. I want to hold onto the hope I can save him, but it slips in my fingers as the web untangles, as the mysteries come together, one by one, into the light of the broken room.

"Akaashi Keiji. Sprung up outta nowhere a few months back, but he's already earned himself a reputation among the mobs. Dangerous. Clever. Deceptive." Oikawa's reply cuts to my core, smooth and sharp, precise. "He's the brand new right hand man of Shirofuku Yukie, and next in line to lead Fukurodani after her. Your precious client's not some innocent, Eagle-Owl. He's a mobster to the bone." 

My hand quivers, slips, falls to my side. The gun tumbles from my fingers, and I don't bother to glance at it as it clatters to the ground. My breaths are short, rasping. The blow's winded me, thrown me, blasted all the hope out of my chest. The world swims before my eyes, the figures of Oikawa and Iwaizumi blurring into the background, into the mess, into the distance as they slip away. I don't want to believe it. I can't. Yet I do. It explains everything. Explains his nervousness, his urgency, his insistence to come with me. It explains everything I never wanted it to.

At least Akaashi had been honest about one thing. I can't save him. I never had a chance.

The city opens its maw, deep and dangerous, and swallows me whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for the thrilling finale next week!


	3. the knife you left behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warning for this chapter: Character Death (yes, more of it)

_Twenty Minutes after Confronting Oikawa, Cobbler St South_

I can't get in contact with Kuroo.

I'm huddled in a phone booth a few blocks out of Seijoh territory, soaked to the bone, listening to the line ring, and ring, and ring. It's my second time calling his flat - after the first I'd tried everywhere he might be. My office, Dick's Bar, Morimoto Café... nothing. I shiver. I forgot my umbrella in my haste to escape, and I'm paying for it now, trembling, hair slicked to my skull, fingers numbing at the tips. The rain still pounds on the glass around me, only overpowered by the endless ringing.

After another ten seconds, I slam the receiver down. It's not going to work. I hammer my fist into the side of the booth, the glass rattling, but not breaking. I glare into the darkness, the rain, my breath fogging in a cloud, impenetrable and white. Kuroo needs to know everything I know before he gets himself in trouble, or worse, before Akaashi lands him in it. He _needs_ to know. I glance on the road. It's long, winding and slick. Empty. There's no sign of the cab I'd called for a pick up. I still have time to burn.

I'll try one last time. I have to. 

I dig into my pockets, my fingers now fully numb, but I come up empty. I'm out of change. I've got cash, sure, and bullets, but I can't cram either of those into the phone and make it work. I dig further, pulling out my lighter, a small pebble, a loose cigarette - the one from Sugawara, just that morning. Damn, I could use a smoke. I could use ten, or twenty, or a really strong drink. I could use a pair of shoes not sloshing full of muddy water, a coat not clinging to my skin.

I could use a world where Akaashi Keiji hadn't betrayed me.

The cigarette rolls between my fingers, the rain rolls down the glass, my thoughts roll around my head. He'd been playing me from the very second he came into my office - everything he said, everything he did... he'd wanted my help, and he'd gotten it, alright. All that innocence - it's hard to believe it was a ploy, but I know, deep down, that's just because I wish it wasn't true. I want him to be innocent. I want him to be in the clear. Had he wanted me to prove Fukurodani's innocence all along? Or just his own? How had I let him lead me on? How had I-

It takes a conscious effort loosen my hands from the fists they've formed, my breath hissing out between my teeth. I glance out between the raindrops, and - finally. The headlights of the cab appear at the end of the road, two beams of white slicing the dark pavement. I look over myself, survey the damage from my distracted thoughts. I'm still standing in a puddle, my pants and coat stained with mud. I've lost my hat. My shoes are ruined, and I've damaged the cigarette, crumpled it near completely. I'll be lucky if the cabbie lets me in.

I go to throw the now useless cigarette on the ground when the sight tugs at something. I pause. I stare at it, my head tilting, piecing together bits and pieces I'd not considered together. This isn't the first cigarette I've encountered on the case. The image of the one in the ashtray at Akaashi's sits in my mind, the one on my desk that went missing before I got a chance investigate properly. There's something there - I play the scene over, the rumbles of the cab's engine a backdrop of thunderous noise.

I'd been studying it when Akaashi came in without warning. I'd slid it under the paper. I'd needed to rush out to see Kuroo, and Akaashi... Akaashi hadn't stood up right away. He'd only gotten up when I turned around, hands moving to his pockets, as if-

As if he'd been taking something. 

_Sunofabitch._

I stuff the damaged cigarette back in my pocket, raising my hand as I push out of the phone booth. The rain hits me all over again, cold and harsh, as the cab rumbles to a stop. My hand rests on the butt of my pistol as I jog to the door, eyes glued beyond the road, the car, the city. I'd rather not use the gun, but I'm not afraid to if the cabbie tries to turn me away. I need answers. I need to find Kuroo. Above all, I need to take back what's mine. There's only one place I can go, and one way to get there: straight through hell.

-

_One Hour after Confronting Oikawa, Akaashi's Apartment_

I don't even bother knocking. I center myself, get my sights, and, in one swift motion, kick the door in. It rattles to the ground, smashing off the hinges with a screech that shakes the whole hall, the lock completely broken. I step over it as I enter, gun level, eyes darting side to side.

I told him to get a deadbolt. Not my fault he didn't listen. 

Akaashi and I meet as I cross into the living room, his own gun tight in hand as he emerges from a side room. He whips it up to my eye level as mine hovers at his. There's a cool dignity to his shoulders and it sets a fire in my chest, one I temper into rage. I don't want to think about how effortless his outfit is, black jacket on black oxford, how handsome his face is, framed by those untamable dark curls and that flush dark collar. I don't want to think about how, under the fire, it's the betrayal that burns. 

His gun never wavers, his eyes steel and ice. 

"You found out, then." The words are an admission, one delivered cold and emotionless. My hand shakes, but I force myself to breathe, to keep focused on the invisible line between the end of my gun and the middle of his forehead. I've got about a hundred emotions I'm trying not to think about, as he stands there having none at all.

"Yeah," I manage to reply. My teeth grind. The word comes out a growl. I wait for him to continue, to apologize, but he doesn't flinch. The only movement is his slow blinks, the small rise and fall of his chest. The fire I'm trying to temper flares, and I bring my second hand up to steady the gun as the rage, the hurt, _everything_ boils out of me. "Is that all you've got to say for yourself? You lied to me - you lied from the damn start! You knew all along who the body was, why he was put here, what was going on... what kind of fucked up game were you trying to play with me?! Did you think I was stupid? Here I was worried you were in trouble with the mob, that you were getting caught up in a war you had no business seeing, when you're one of the ones _behind_ it! And-"

"And what?" Akaashi's voice slices through me, booming through the air like a gunshot. I flinch, rattled, but I right myself fast, keep my gun trained on him. I try to keep holding his eyes, use their darkness to push down my thoughts. "Do you want me to apologize for hurting your feelings? Is that it? Or maybe you want revenge?" I fight to keep myself from trembling, with rage or anger or pain. Akaashi plows on, each word a new blow, a new cut. "You want to kill me for it? Go ahead then, Bokuto. Take the shot."

I'm fast. If I wanted to, I could kill him before he blinks, before he even manages to react. The part of me holding up the gun, the part fizzling with rage, wants to. It wants nothing more than to take the shot, to put the both of us out of our misery. It's overwhelming, blinding, and my finger tightens over the trigger. It'd be so easy. So quick. What's one more death in a city of graves?

I steady my breaths. I line up the shot. But I don't take it. I can't. Deep down, I know I never could. I tell myself it's only because he's my way to Kuroo, that he's got the evidence that could unravel the case, that killing him solves nothing but making me feel better. It's a convenient lie, one I can't even convince myself of, and one Akaashi would laugh at if he heard. I don't shoot him because, despite everything, despite my damn better senses, I don't want to lose him. I can't make myself stop wanting to help him. 

It hurts, and hurts, and hurts, but ending it would hurt more than I could bear. 

My lack of resolve shows on my face - I can feel my lips twitching, my eyes shadowed, weak. I don't bother trying to hide it. Akaashi's arm drops and he tucks the gun back inside his jacket. He doesn't need the weapon to have the advantage. I expect him to gloat, to see those green eyes flash with triumph, but he surprises me. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Something deflates inside him as he sinks down onto his chair. The dignity is gone from his hunched shoulders, and he looks like he did at the elevator - desperate, fear edging on tears he has to forcibly stamp out. 

"I told you, Bokuto," he murmurs, and if that low voice didn't carry so well I never would have heard him. "You can't save me."

"I guess I can't," I reply. I holster my gun, my eyes trailing along the edges of the room. I don't want to look at him. Anger and pity and who knows what else churn inside me, a great mess of shit I still don't have time for. My hands go to my pockets, tracing the edge of my lighter, the crumpled husk of the cigarette. I clear my throat, talking to the faded paintings and wilted flowers littering his apartment. "I didn't come here for you. I came because I'm going to see this case through to the end. Not for you. I don't give a shit about clearing your name. I'm doing it to keep this damn city from exploding at the seams during a mob war, and to save my former partner. Got it?"

"I understand." Akaashi sounds tired, defeated. I glance at him in time to see him reach inside his jacket and pull out a small bag. I stare, and the image clicks. It's the cigarette butt he stole. He places it on the coffee table in front of him, its legs still stained with the blood of the Nekoma mobster. "I figured you'd be coming for this sooner or later. When I saw you hide it, I thought it might be something I hadn't wanted you to find. I tried to follow up on it myself, but..." Akaashi shrugs. Obviously it had meant nothing to him, then, and he'd wasted his time and mine with the foolish action. 

I cross the room, picking up the bag as I ease myself onto the couch. It's there, alright - the missing cigarette. I stare at it, getting lost in myself, letting everything from the past week wash over me. The cigarette had been the first twist in a case that's a labyrinth of secrecy. I've been trapped here, wandering half blind, only finding out clues and leads by the edge of my teeth, for them to sweep my feet out from me and leave me stranded at every turn. The cigarette blurs in my vision, that strange, slightly off colour, the brand I can't place. It taunts me, mocks me, no clearer now than it had been then. My vision focuses in a glare, that all this is for nothing, that-

Wait.

I round a curve in my mind, and the path opens up before me, straight and clear, for the first time on the case. Light floods my vision, my mind, connecting pieces together across clues and lies and mysteries. Perhaps I'm not so blind after all. 

Akaashi says something, but I don't hear him, tuning him out like the sound of the rain. My hand flies to my pocket, fumbling, the remnants of Sugawara's cigarette coming out in pieces. Broken, unusable, but still enough to see the colour of the paper matches, enough to see the answer unfold. In one hand, the gift. In the other, the curse. I've finally found my way out of the maze. I know who dumped the body in Akaashi's apartment. 

And I'd let Kuroo go ask around Karasuno for answers. 

I'm on my feet in seconds, both cigarettes going in my waistcoat this time for safekeeping. I leap the back of the couch, my shoes making a damp squelch as I hit the ground. Kuroo must have found out something he shouldn't have with Sawamura, or Sugawara caught up with him and didn't like his questions. I hope he's been captured. I fear he's dead. Either way it's my responsibility to go after them, to avenge him, or save him, to-

A hand clamps on my arm, nails digging through my wet jacket and shirt. I glance down, and over, and Akaashi stands there, chest heaving, eyes flaring. I realize I've already made it into the hall without any memory of getting there. Akaashi's watching me, close, and my mind flashes to the last time he grabbed my arm. There was no gulf between us then. I'm not sure we can bridge the one between us now.

Akaashi opens his mouth, and I know what words are coming. It's the same thing he's tried to insist since the start of the case, and my answer hasn't changed. "No," I say. "I'm not taking you with me. The cigarette - it's Sugawara's. Karasuno's behind this - they must have hired The Knife. They're playing your precious Fukurodani and Nekoma, and they've got Kuroo. I'm going-"

"To face a mob by yourself?" He snorts, pulling his hand back and wiping the dampness off on his jacket sleeve. "You're a mess, Bokuto. You're soaking wet, you're not thinking straight, and you can't take Sugawara on alone. I know you're smarter than that. Face it. You need backup." I open my mouth to protest, and he raises a finger, pale and perfect. Despite the still bubbling pain, I fall silent. "You can hate me all you want. Hell, after this, we never have to see each other again." Those eyes tilt into shadows, into the cold determination that only a mobster can have. Into the storm, a storm I'd seen before in his eyes, a storm heralding the danger of the city, the death yet to come. "But the truth is you need help, and I've all you got, no matter how much you hate to admit it. I'm still being framed and I want my name cleared. I won't have you screw it up more by being rash. So let me help you."

It isn't a request this time, but a demand of a mobster, one who's used to getting what he wants. He's coming whether I want him to or not - and I don't want him to. I don't want to deal with the feelings and turmoil until after I know Kuroo's safe. I don't want to see his face, his betrayal, his perfectly tilted head and ever so slightly parted lips. I can't trust him. I can't trust myself around him. The fire in my chest fizzles, filling my mind with a low hanging smoke, grey and dense and choking like the city air.

I accept.

-

_Midnight, Karasuno Stronghold, Top Floor_

I manage to sneak us both into the Karasuno stronghold fairly well. After a stop at my office to change and ensure Shimizu had long gone home, we'd reviewed the layout, made our plan. Karasuno hadn't changed its patrolling patterns much, and both Akaashi and I were adept, to say the least, at sneaking in and out of places we didn't belong. The rain had eased, and we'd darted between slits of moonlight and shadows, behind buildings, around the low layer of filth flooding the city streets. I'd kicked open my second door of the day, though this one I couldn't smash off the hinges. Akaashi had slipped in the gap I'd made to remove the chain keeping the door closed, and with that, we were in.

The building, two stories above ground, three beneath, is anything but quiet. Behind the doors and down the hallways is the sound of Karasuno. The testing of guns, the shots ringing and rattling the stark grey hallways, the bare bulbs swinging at each sound. We duck into closets and side halls as carts of knives get wheeled past us, glittering and pristine metal on top of the broken tiles and peeling paint. We see glimpses of the mobsters, splashes of the orange and black they consider their colours on coats and blazers. Cigarette smoke that lines the corners of the ceiling, that pools in the stairwell we slip into as we head down, down, down. 

Akaashi hasn't spoken since we left my office, and I prefer it that way. He follows me, a shadow of a shadow, gun never leaving his hand, eyes flitting between green and black, never staying still. His feet are silent on the metal stairs, and I wish I could say the same about mine. Despite the flickering pale bulbs lighting our way down, he still manages to look good as he guards my back. 

Bastard.

We make it to the bottom landing, the door steel and sealed, looming before us. Sugawara will be down here: it's his center of operations, the place where every thought from Karasuno springs from. Sugawara isn't the boss, of course, but he's the brains, and he's who we're after. I rest my hand on the handle of the door as a hand rests against my arm. I stiffen, even though I know who it is. Or maybe because of who it is.

"Bokuto," he says, that low voice as deep underground as we are. "There's something I need to tell you." 

"If you're going to apologize, I don't want to hear it," I snap. My voice comes out louder than I'd wanted, and I check the door. There's no movement, no sound. No one's there. My hand tightens on my gun anyway. 

"That's not it." Of course it isn't. Guys like Akaashi don't apologize, not for using you, not for lying to you. My hand shakes on the door handle and I hope he doesn't notice. "Not exactly. I haven't been totally honest with you."

I shoot him a flat look, and he weathers it, unmoving. Cold, cold, cold. I try my best not to frown, and fail miserably. I huff out my reply. "I noticed."

"Can you stop interrupting?" he mutters, as if I'm the one in the doghouse. He shifts up beside me, closer than he should be. Not as close as I want him to be, beyond my bristling anger. His eyes still move back and forth as he talks. "I'm only telling you this because you're going to find out soon anyway. I wasn't framed just because I'm part of Fukurodani. It's because-"

Akaashi doesn't have a chance to finish his sentence. The handle of the door flies out of my hand as it opens inwards. Two men stand on the other side, one laughing, hat askew on his head, the other smiling, a cigarette trailing out of his mouth. Their attention, for a split second, is still focused on the joke hovering between them in the foul air. Then they notice us. 

I'd been hoping we could get in without making a scene, but that possibility goes up in smoke as the cigarette falls from the Karasuno mobster's mouth. Ah well. We'd gotten this far. 

I'm a fast shot, but my gun isn't in position, and the mobsters recover faster. Lopsided-hat throws the door open all the way, grabbing Akaashi by the wrist and yanking him forward. I start towards him, but Cigarette-mouth lunges for me, knocking the pistol from my hand. I twist, turning on my heel as I grab a fistful of his tie, using his momentum to throw him forward onto the ground. He sprawls, but he's not stunned, his hand flying to his side. But I'm faster. My other hand's already free of my jacket, already leveling the second gun at his face. I see the moment it dawns on him that he isn't going to make it out.

I'm not as good a shot with my left hand. But I don't miss. 

I turn to see if Akaashi needs help - I can't stop that, wanting to help him, not even now. I'm met by the barrel of a gun, the livid face of a Karasuno mobster, the darkness of the city, ever clinging, ever present. My eyes close, my throat closes, my mind clears. This is it, then. The past rushing up to ensnare me, the body bubbling out of the river, exposed. The city does not forget, and it exacts the punishment for my crimes.

I wait. Nothing happens. 

A second, and another second, and I am still standing, still alive. A sound reaches my ears, but it's not a gunshot, but a thud, the clang of a gun against the ground. The dull sound of a body. My eyes open, my feet scrambling back. A body behind me, and one at my feet. A long blade sticks out from the mobster's neck, buried hilt deep, blood pouring from two stab wounds in his back. A hand reaches forwards, grips the handle, and pulls the knife free. I follow it, watch it ripple beneath the blood, watch the metal flow in a pattern I've seen before. The pattern used by only one person in the entire city. I follow the pale fingers dripping red, the dark jacket stained darker, the mess of curls licked with sweat and matted with blood.

The man before me haloed in light, forehead bleeding, eyes blazing, is no longer Akaashi Keiji. The truth is always darker than you expect, and this time it stains darker, and deeper, than blood. 

"You're The Knife," I whisper. Blood curls towards my feet, but I can't feel my legs, can't step away. It's another piece of the puzzle, another twist in the maze, but this one doesn't fit in any of the carefully placed holes I've left. I can't jam it into my brain, can't think, can't process, can't move. "But... The Knife's the one behind everything, they took out the Nekoma mobster." I gesture to his hands, my voice getting screechy, warbling. Loud. "The knife, it's the same as- there's only one person who-" 

"I was trying to tell you earlier." Akaashi's voice is calm, so calm that it makes me laugh, hysterical and short. He doesn't even seem to notice, as if his world isn't crumbling like the warehouse we're standing in, as if he hasn't just found out the man he might be in love with is not just a mobster, but a deadly assassin - the _deadliest_ in the entire city. My fingers find their way to my scar, scratching, shaking. "I've been framed." 

I close my eyes. It doesn't help, not one bit. The darkness there is too familiar. I open them, and, careful of the two dead mobsters, make my way back to the edge of the stairs. Akaashi watches me, eyes glinting, but says nothing until I've sat down on the bottom step. I slide my gun back into its holster, take a deep breath, and put my face in my hands.

"What the hell did you drag me into?" I ask.

I hear a familiar noise: the scrape of metal against fabric. I peek between my fingers, watching Akaashi wipe the blood off the blade on the mobster's jacket before sliding it back into a holster at his side. His forehead's still bleeding, the blood trailing down the side of his face. It makes him look inhuman. A live ghost amongst the dead. 

"Fukurodani found me out a few months ago," he says. He doesn't look at me as he talks, taking one of the bodies under the arms. He starts dragging it towards the corner of the stairwell. "They discovered I was The Knife during a hit, and Shirofuku said either I joined her mob or died. It was a pretty easy decision to make." Body one moved: onto the second. Part of my mind thinks that I could've asked him to move the mobster out of his apartment instead of calling Kuroo. The other part is still stalled, still numb with shock. "When we found the Nekoma mobster, she thought the same thing you did: The Knife must have done it, and that being me, well, things got a little messy.

"She didn't believe I hadn't done it, hadn't turned on her during their alliance talks out of some kind of twisted game. She threatened to tell the rest of the mob about my identity, and that was just the start of it. I knew I had to get my name in the clear or I'd die, and the only way I could think of accomplishing that was to have someone they did trust be the one who told them." He meets my gaze the moment he drops the second body in the corner, the moment he straightens. "And their old friend Eagle-Owl was a private investigator now. If they wouldn't listen to me, I knew they'd have to listen to you. If you could prove I was framed, then..."

He waits for something, but I have no words to reply with. Not yet. He sighs, crossing the room, picking up my second gun as he does. He offers it to me, and my hands take it, holster it. Akaashi shifts, sitting on the stair beside me. His hand darts into his jacket, removing a white cloth - that same handkerchief he'd used when we first met. He dabs at his forehead. The blood sticks and stains. It rolls down his neck, rolls across the floor, floods the space between us as it seeps into the city.

We sit in silence, in the empty stairwell in a building full of people who wish us dead. I need more time: more time to think about Akaashi, more time to understand. More time to process. But as I recover from the shock, as Akaashi's breathing beside me lulls me, I remember why we're here. What we came for. It changes everything and nothing all at the same time. We still need to save Kuroo. We still need to confront Sugawara.

I stand up, and Akaashi follows, but the moment I take one step his hand shoots out and catches my wrist. This time, I barely flinch. I'm getting used to it. 

"Bokuto-"

"You can finish explaining later," I reply. I examine the empty door, wondering why no one has come yet to check on the missing mobsters or the gunshots. It'll be soon. I try and shake Akaashi off my wrist so I can get my gun, but he won't let go. "We need to get going." 

"I'm sorry."

_That_ stops me. I look down at him, at those wide green eyes, at the half wiped blood framing his face. It's all there again: the exhaustion, the desperation, the fear of a man trapped somewhere much deeper than I am. The city has its claws in him, and he knows it. He knows it more intimately than I ever will.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, as if I hadn't heard him. "I never thought I'd be dragging you into something like this. I only cared about clearing my name and staying alive, and I was willing to use whatever lie I could to have you do it. But the more we talked, the more I saw you, the more I pretended... the more I wanted it to be true. I wanted to open up to you. I wanted someone to be there for me. I... I wanted to believe you could really save me." He tugs the edge of his jacket sleeve with his free hand. His eyes drop to the ground. "You don't have to accept the apology. I know I've hurt you. But I am sorry. Being with you... it's the first time I've ever had any hope. Hope that there's some good in the city. Hope that someone can get out. And whatever happens in there, Bokuto, I'll see you out alive. You deserve that much. You deserve the chance at salvation you keep trying to give me."

And then he looks up and smiles, smiles that damn thing that puts the sun to shame, that slows the universe, that filters out everything but him and me to radio static and rain. The ache in my chest forms, the one full of his betrayal, his secrets, the tilt of his head and the smoothness of his skin and the fingers that still hold my wrist like a lifeline. I haven't forgiven him. 

But that doesn't mean I don't love him.

It's only a moment of hesitation later, one moment of knowing it's the worst time, the worst place for this, that I kiss him. My hand on his cheek, in his hair, his blood staining my fingers. His lips, cold and smooth like the rest of him. His desperation leeching into me as he kisses me back, as he drops my wrist to pull himself closer, as his hands dig into my shirt. It's a moment too long, a moment too short, an eternity in the depths of hell where I kiss an assassin in the belly of the beast. 

Akaashi's wrong if he thinks I can be saved. I'm long past that point. But he's also right, in a way: it is nice to pretend otherwise.

I pull myself back. My hand comes away sticky and dry, his cheek clear in the spot I'd rested it. I clench it tight, feeling the blood crack in the cracks of my skin. There's no more time to waste. 

"Let's go," I say.

"After you," he replies. He steps back, offers me a gun. My gun. I pat my chest, finding the one holster empty. I look at him, raising my eyebrows. I hadn't even noticed him take it. He smirks. 

It's a good look on him.

-

_The Dark Hours after Midnight, Karasuno Stronghold, Bottom Floor_

We see no one else.

The end of the hallway opens into a large room, the lights harsh and white, the walls damp with moisture, paint peeling. All the same, it's cleaner than the rest of the stronghold. A large mahogany desk is pushed aside along the far wall, papers stacked in patterns around it, covered by tarps to protect them from the moisture. There are pneumatic tubes running across the room, silent for now, but during a day of bustling activity it's no surprise how Sugawara sends orders or receives information. We've reached his palace, his chamber. His home. 

The heart of Karasuno.

There's a few steps up onto a platform, maybe three feet above the floor level, in the middle of the room. Standing on that platform, smiling, waiting, is the man who knew we were coming, the man who lied with a spring in his step. The man who must have sent the two mobsters we'd killed to see if we were here yet. That's where Kuroo kneels, head down, covered in blood and bruises, hands tied behind his back, his breath so loud and rasping I can hear it from where I stand, ten feet away.

Sugawara is waiting for us. 

Unlike with Oikawa or Akaashi, I don't level my gun at his face. When it comes time to kill him, he won't have the luxury of a warning. I cross the room as far as I dare, Akaashi behind me, still silent, still tense. We've both come for answers, for resolution. For proof. And the moment we have it, that bastard won't breathe another second, won't live long enough to lay a finger on Kuroo ever again. 

"Welcome," Sugawara says, twirling the gun on his finger. "Though you're a tad late, Eagle-Owl. I expected you an hour ago. And here I thought you were the best private investigator in the city. But, then again," and he grins, the smile oily and slippery, the top layer of the river that no one can quite catch, "it must be hard to do work without your former partner. Or have you already replaced The Calico with your little shadow?"

Akaashi tenses, stepping forward, but I hold out my arm to stop him. It isn't time. We haven't learned anything yet - nothing for him to clear his name, nothing for me to stop an all out war. "I'm onto you, Sugawara. You've pitted Nekoma and Fukurodani at each other. You've driven Aoba Josai out of the city. You had me running around following dead end leads so you could sow your chaos. You-"

"Yes, yes, we're all on the same page." Sugawara interjects with a shrug. I frown. I hadn't gotten through my whole accusation yet. He shifts behind Kuroo on the platform, gun still spinning. "You know as well as I do that my only alliance is to Karasuno. Any good mobster should only care about getting ahead. That's why your shadow here will never fit in at Fukurodani - Shirofuku can't trust The Knife to stay loyal, even if she tells herself otherwise. Isn't that why they and Nekoma are calling for your head?"

"So you do know, then," Akaashi replies. His low voice is a contrast to Sugawara's chipper tone, but if the grey-haired man senses the threat, the violence under the words, he doesn't react. 

"Of course I know. You think she was the only one to discover your little secret those months ago? You were doing a hit on Karasuno, were you not?" My eyes dart between the two of them - Akaashi tense, like me, a spring ready to react to anything. Sugawara casual, going so far as to lean a knee against Kuroo's back. Kuroo coughs, eyes watering in pain. My hand goes to grab my gun, but I steady it. It's not time, and Sugawara isn't done talking.

"Shirofuku has always been such a short term planner. It's why she turned on you the moment that Nekoma body showed up in your house. I've always been about the long game, and her putting a killer in her pocket... well it was too good a chance to pass up. All I needed was time to secure your weapons provider and I had everything I needed to set you up - and, as you know, I'm very good at smuggling weapons.

"I will give you this, Akaashi: I never expected you to go to Bokuto." Sugawara eases off Kuroo's back. Relief flickers through his dull eyes, and my hands clench to fists. Sugawara stops spinning his gun, only long enough to draw a cigarette from his coat and light it. I catch the edge of the box, the colour of the paper, the clue that haunted me since the start of the case. "You were at least right about that. If you got Bokuto on your side, he'd not only get you off - but convince all the mobs of your innocence. Maybe even woo Karasuno. And, since my illustrious leader and Daichi don't know about this yet, it's not something I could risk getting out. Not until I have time to convince them to act against Nekoma and Fukurodani." He taps his gun against the side of Kuroo's head. "So when some very good insurance walked in looking for our very much alive second in command, I decided to keep him."

I grind my teeth together, hard. I can feel my nails digging into my palms, can feel the crescent shaped cuts they leave. I need to keep him talking - need to figure out a plan that shows how everything ties back to him, that I can use to justify killing him. My mind clouds with the sight of Kuroo, the rasping breaths growing weaker, his eyes glued to the ground. The cigarette smoke caressing the side of Sugawara's face, haunting the edges of his smile. The gun he lowers against the back of Kuroo's head, tauntingly slow. 

"So, you have a choice, Bokuto Koutarou, the Eagle-Owl. You can walk out of here and let Akaashi take the blame I worked so hard to pin on him, and I'll return Kuroo to you as soon as Akaashi is out of the picture. Or you can stubbornly stick to your ideas of exposing me and I'll shoot Kuroo - either right here and now, or later, if you double cross me. What will it be?"

I glance at Kuroo, who can't raise his head but manages to lift those dull brown eyes and give me a look that tells me he's ready to die. It dries my throat, sucks the life right out of me, pooling cold and heavy at my feet. My eyes flick to Akaashi, who's expression is clouded by the crackles of thunder, the typhoon of anger behind his eyes. I'm not sure what angers him more: the idea of being used as bait, or the idea of dying. 

It's a good corner to back me into: a choice between my best friend, the only trustworthy one in the city, and the assassin who I've fallen for, who I should turn over without hesitation, but can't. Sugawara picked well, planned well. He's grown up in the city, knows its tricks and ticks and shadows like the back of his hand. 

But there's no decision to make, not really. I've known what I wanted, needed to do since I came in here - that there was only one outcome I could allow. If I need to take it without proof, then I'll have to find some another way. Sugawara was right: I am the best private investigator around. A city this dark is full of secrets. 

And I know the darkness well.

Sugawara must see it in my face: I've never been good at holding back my expressions. The smile twists, sick, spiraling, lighting a fire in his eyes that burns low and fierce. I know then I don't have time to wait, that any hesitation will be the end of it all. I draw, the cold metal digging into the small cuts on my palm. My eyes rise in time to see Sugawara move, the gun no longer pressed against the back of Kuroo's head, but trained on mine. He's made a decision, too.

I'm a quick shot.

Sugawara is faster. 

I hear the gunshot, feel something slam into my arm, my chest, and go down hard. My face scrapes along the ground, my flesh tearing, stinging. My vision blurs, dark spots dancing. I can see the gun in my hand, floating around where it shouldn't. I hear another thud, another body, but there's no second gunshot. I close my eyes, taking deep breaths, astonished to find that they don't hurt, that my chest functions as it should. In fact, nothing hurts enough to have been shot. 

I sit up, fast - too fast, and the world goes black for a second. My head throbs, a trickle of blood running down my ear, pieces of silver hair stabbing my forehead. The scene, the moment come together in pieces, the picture forming slow. 

Sugawara, dead, collapsed on the platform, a knife clean through his neck.

Kuroo, eyes wide, face pale, staring to my right.

Akaashi, clutching his left arm, bleeding profusely through the black jacket, turning to look at me. The force that slammed into me hadn't been the bullet. It had been Akaashi. He'd saved my life and ended Sugawara's in one quick move. We stare at each other, that storm settling behind his eyes, his face relaxing, loosening, as if a weight has lifted off his shoulders just by making sure I'm alive. My chest twinges, aches, and I wonder if I should get up and kiss him again. 

Considering we're in the stronghold of a mob who's smartest man tried to frame and murder us, I figure I'll take a rain check on that idea. 

I manage to get to my feet and start towards Akaashi, who frowns and waves me towards the stage. "I'm fine," he hisses, his jaw locking around the words, his fingers digging deep into the flesh. His hand is entirely red. His lips look pale. He is not fine, not in any sense. "Get Kuroo untied and off that thing."

"Sit down before you pass out," I snap back, and though Akaashi scowls, he flops down on the ground without further protest. 

It's seconds before I'm up on the platform, untying Kuroo's hands and being very careful not to touch Sugawara's very dead corpse. There's no avoiding his blood, but I do what I can. Kuroo shakes as he gets to his feet, unsteady, the bruises and cuts worse now that I'm close up. He leans on me, heavy, arm across my shoulders as I hold him around the waist. I help him down the stairs, one at a time, slow as he gets his bearings. 

"Thank you," he murmurs, taking the last step almost on his own. 

"What are partners for?" I reply. Kuroo's laugh is light, almost a huff of breath. I nudge him with my elbow, careful of his injuries. "Can you wait here on your own for a second?"

He nods, and I slide out of his grip, back up the stairs. I hate to do this, hate it more than I can say, but I bend down and yank the knife out of Sugawara's throat. Even to someone as used to death as I am, the sight that unfolds is gross. I don't look back as I wipe the blood on my pants, as I walk down the stairs. 

Shuffling behind me says Akaashi's on his way over, which is great, but I'm not giving him back his knife. I'll need it for what I have in mind, for what I'll need to do to solve this mess. But that's a plan for another time. There's one more pressing issue right now, the one I'm hoping someone has a fix for.

"How the hell are we going to get out?" I ask. I survey the group. Kuroo can only just stand on his own, Akaashi no better off despite his steely determination to not faint from pain or blood loss, and me, headache throbbing, bordering on concussed. "There's no way we're going to manage to sneak out the way we came."

"There's another exit." Kuroo, my saving grace I don't deserve. He has to cough a few times before he continues, wiping spittle on the back of his hand. He sways, so I walk over to steady him. He gestures as he talks, pointing to a wall. "Off to the side there, behind one of those boxes. Sugawara uses it as his private entrance and exit. It's how he got me down here without the mob seeing."

"Unmarked on the plans?"

"Of course." Kuroo grins at me, and it brings me back - back to a time where finding secrets like this was what I did for a living. Back when we worked together as a team. Properly. 

I decide right then and there he's joining me as an investigator the moment he heals up. I'll be damned if I'm leaving him behind after this. Not again. We might not get out, might not be clean, but at least we'll have each others' backs. At least next time I'll be able to help him before he takes one for the team.

The two of us start a hobbling shuffle towards the exit, Kuroo guiding me with his words as his steps fall heavy. There's only one problem: we're the only ones walking. I glance over my shoulder, hefting Kuroo, and Akaashi remains, a statue, a work of art sprung to life and bleeding on the floor. He's not looking our way, but staring at the corpse on the platform, intense and focused.

"Akaashi?" I call. I shift the knife in my free hand, my grip getting sweaty with the effort of hauling Kuroo. "Do you need help? I'll come back for you when I get Kuroo to the stairs. We can-"

"Someone needs to take the blame for this." Those eyes light up, green and fierce, turning on me. Seems the storm in him hasn't blown over, not one little bit. "It should be me."

"Akaashi, that's-"

"No, Bokuto. The mobs will want someone to blame - for Sugawara's death, for the chaos. Once Kuroo's safe, call the mob leaders together. Tell them you've solved the case. Tell them The Knife was behind it all - name me. It's my fault you were dragged into this, and my carelessness that caused all of this. I'll accept whatever comes."

Kuroo lifts his arm, sensing before I do that I'm going to start walking back towards Akaashi. I can't seem to close the whole distance between us - something freezes me to the spot halfway there. The exhaustion, the sadness, the tension is back in every inch of his perfect face and flawless form. 

He knows, deep down, that you can't escape the city - not its borders, not its lessons, not its touch. Akaashi knows what punishment will come down from the mobs, and it won't be as swift or as silent as the death he gave Sugawara. I don't know if it's guilt or love that drives him, that forced the words from his mouth. But I do know what one shapes my decision, still twisting and turning and forming. It's not an escape plan, and it's not foolproof - but it's a start. 

"Help me get Kuroo out of here," I reply. Akaashi nods, his back straightening, his face closing. I'll let him think he's won for now, let him think it as long as it takes, until I can resolve this properly. I've never let a client down, after all, and I'm not about to start now.

We climb, together, The Knife and The Calico and Eagle-Owl, shaking and dirty and cold, from one darkness into another. 

-

_Four Days after the Death of Sugawara, Bokuto's Office_

My office door opens. 

In one movement Kuroo and I turn over. His body's still covered in bandages and bruises, though he's back to sporting a flat cap and a bomber jacket with his usual ease. He sits beside my desk, having hauled in an extra armchair in from the street until he gets a desk of his own. I've returned to my waistcoat and tie, my hair parted to cover the lump on the side of my head. Framed in the midmorning light is Shimizu, her hair in a high ponytail, pushing her glasses up with one finger. 

"What's up, Shimizu?" I ask. I lean forward on my desk, smoke trailing behind me from my cigarette. "A visitor?"

"A client. He wants a word with you. He seemed angry, so I made him wait outside." Likely or not, she'd pinned him with a look, and that had been that, but I appreciate the warning. It's not like I don't know who's coming - I've only got one client after all. "Should I send him in?"

"Sure thing," I reply. "I can handle it."

"And if not," Kuroo interjects, "I will."

Shimizu nods - she's not one for laughing, even if it's a good joke - and steps back. Kuroo and I share a look as we hear her clipped voice instructing the mysterious visitor that he can enter. It's a real wonder how Shimizu managed to stop him before he burst in this time around. Maybe he's too injured to argue with her this time around.

Either way, when Akaashi Keiji bursts in, anger boiling the air around him, he's quite the sight.

He doesn't bother taking off his hat, undoing his coat. He throws his gloves to the ground, his one arm in a loose sling against his chest to keep pressure off his bullet wound. I haven't seen him since we parted ways, since he disappeared into the night the moment we hit the surface outside Karasuno's stronghold. He looks much more alive now - there's colour in his cheeks, flushed as they are with anger, and he holds himself properly instead of stooping around the pain. I'm glad he's on the mend. I'm glad his face is framed with those curls just so. I'm-

"Bokuto Koutarou, what the _fuck_ did you do?"

I'm so glad he's missed me, too.

I pop the almost finished cigarette out of my mouth, grinding it into the ashtray on my right. For the first time since I took on the case, my shoulders feel loose, my head light. "You know, I'd started to worry you weren't going to come back. You'd emptied your apartment, disappeared off the streets... I thought you might've fled the city altogether. Didn't think I'd see you back here at my door, you know?"

"Cut the crap, Bokuto. You knew I'd be coming back. You were expecting me." So low, so angry. I shiver, but I'm not afraid. Akaashi seems too wrapped up in himself to notice, but Kuroo clues in. He rolls his eyes, flicking me in the arm. Akaashi's eyes dart to the movement, then turn back to my face. He slams his hand on my desk to focus my attention. "I should be dead. Shirofuku should've had me gutted in an alley, let alone what Nekoma would've done to me. Instead she made a point of finding my hideout last night, told me I was free to go, and that she'd get me if I ever crossed Fukurodani again. That isn't what we agreed on."

"I don't recall agreeing to _anything_ ," I reply. "Besides, you paid me to clear your name after being framed for a murder. It would be bad for business if I couldn't do that."

Another slam of his palm on the table. If I get Akaashi any angrier, I'm afraid he'll use one of those knives I'm sure he still has on his person. So, I concede defeat. I gesture for him to sit, and he does, heavily, back ramrod straight in the chair, as tense as the first time we met - if far more expressive and attractive. The air is different, too - a different type of tension waiting for release. And I, for one, welcome the ability to relax and joke around again. I've missed it.

It's nice to be home.

He waits as I draw out a cup, my bottle of whiskey, waits until I'm sipping it slowly before he speaks again. "Well? Are you going to tell me what happened or not?" 

"I am," I say. And I explain.

-

_Two Days Prior, ???_

It's always a scary thing to be surrounded by mobsters in a dark alley in the middle of a broken down city, where no one will hear you scream or care if you die. It's just another Tuesday for me. 

Of course, calling all the leaders of the mobs was no easy task - and keeping them from killing each other as we all crouch in the dirty alley will be yet another test of my talents. The side of my head still throbs in time with my pulse, the cigarette smoke stinging the not quite healed over wound. I can feel a lump forming, and I'm not looking forward to it.

The most dangerous people in the entire city stand around me, thinking. Shirofuku Yukie of Fukurodani, mahogany hair parted down the middle, a gun twirling in her hand. Sawamura Daichi, very much not dead, hovering behind the current Karasuno leader. Tanaka Saeko has bleach-blonde hair, cropped close against her head to show off her piercings and the tattoo trailing up her neck. She's on her third cigarette since we arrived. Finally, sitting on an overturned trashcan, knife-cane in hand, is Nekoma's leader, Nekomata Tasufumi. 

You could cut the tension with the knife - which I'm terrified someone will do. 

The story I've just told is not long or hard: Akaashi really is innocent of the crime, and Sugawara guilty. I'd explained how he went behind Karasuno's back, how he planned to take over from within. The lies, when I needed to, came easily: I played it up like he planned to take over each mob, to crown himself in charge of the town, how the tension between them all came from only him. I speak of how, when we'd confronted him, he'd already tortured The Calico, how Akaashi and I had no choice but to kill him with his own weapon to save ourselves.

It isn't a perfect story, not by a long shot. I just had to hope that their trust in me would make them believe it.

The first person to recover is Sawamura, the shock rolling off him in waves. He and Sugawara had been close. "I followed everything, except - what do you mean, his own weapon? I saw his body myself - he was stabbed through the neck with a knife. He wasn't shot. He still had his gun."

The biggest gamble of the night. I reach inside my jacket, pulling out the murder weapon, the clue, the final piece to my story, the final act of my lie. I place it down in the middle of our little circle, in the sharpest slant of light. The ripples of the metal are bright and dark, shadows and life and death all forged together.

"Sugawara Koushi was The Knife," I say. 

It's a moment of truth for the tale of my lies - one person here could call my bluff, right here and now, and end everything for me. The one who I need to stay silent - the one I bribed with the promise of the end of the mob war before everyone else arrived. Shirofuku knows I'm lying, knows The Knife still lives, still lingers. She may even know where Akaashi disappeared to, though it's a mystery I haven't tried to solve yet. I wait, the silence stewing, thickening. 

She doesn't speak. She won't reveal him. Not yet.

I start to sigh, start to feel the tension ease from my shoulder, when a different voice clears their throat. Nekomata's beady eyes are digging right into me, and despite myself I swallow hard. 

"This is all you can offer me?" he asks. He gestures with the cane at the knife. "This means nothing to me. There's no proof Sugawara was The Knife except your word and our faith. I want more."

"Cal will be able to back me up once he's-"

"Another person telling me the story isn't the same thing as proof, Eagle-Owl. You're an investigator. You know that."

"I believe him."

All our heads turn to Tanaka, grinding out her cigarette under her thick black boot. She adjusts her short leather jacket, pulling on her gloves. She glares at each of us in turn, including Sawamura. "Sugawara was smart, clever. Slimy. I'm not surprised at all. Figures he'd be the one to bring those knives into the city, and behind my back, too. If he wasn't loyal, it's a good thing he's gone." She spits, crossing her arms on her chest. "Eagle-Owl's a good guy. He's never led me false before. If he says it's so, it's so."

"And you?" Nekomata's eyes turn to Shirofuku, who hasn't moved in the past five minutes. I watch the air between them, ready to bolt if one of them draws or fires. "What do you think, Shirofuku, about your little star second?"

Shirofuku looks at me, her glare sharp, unforgiving. Her teeth grind as she speaks, but the words are one that flood me with relief, that warm me in the cold air. "Fukurodani stands behind Akaashi. We've always thought him innocent."

"I'm so sure. And that's why he needed Eagle-Owl here to prove his case." Nekomata shifts on his seat, shaking his head. "It's not enough for me. I still hold Akaashi responsible, and demand punishment."

"No-" Shirofuku starts, but she's cut off by another voice.

Mine, sadly.

"Fine," I say. I step forward, arms on my chest, drawing myself to my full height. I'm taller than anyone else here, and though none of them are afraid, it helps my confidence, my aura. "Nekomata, you owe me. You owe me for 52nd Street, you owe me for the Ruby Lion Heist, you owe me for the life of Kozume Kenma. I'm calling everything in right now. Akaashi is mine. We banish him from the mob. He lives. And any trouble that he gets in from now on falls on me. Deal?"

"No deal. You can't demand my second like that!" Shirofuku's hand is tight on her gun, her body trembling with rage. I know she doesn't give a shit about losing Akaashi as her second - but I'm taking away her back-pocket ace, especially now that everyone thinks The Knife is out of the question. But I've prepared for this too, 

"Then I'll call on you, too, Shirofuku. Fukurodani owes me just as much, for just as many heists and hits. Akaashi is mine. Or would you prove yourself unable to hold your debts in front of your rivals?"

Tension. The kind that holds the city together, the kind that binds three dangerous mobs, five dangerous people, together in a small world in the center of the universe. We all watch each other, all of us close to drawing, all of us guessing who's fastest, who'll crack. Who can live without Eagle-Owl or The Calico. Who wants to risk a mob war over a case I'm offering a solution to - imperfect, perhaps. Risky, definitely.

But I'll be damned if I don't try my best to solve this. I'll be damned Akaashi dies on my watch. 

"Deal." Nekomata's voice is cold, sharp. "I owe you a life for my nephew Kozume, and Akaashi's removal still damages Fukurodani. I hold to your terms, and if Akaashi ever acts against Nekoma again, I demand the right to kill him myself. And know, for this, there are no more favours you can call on us, no more we owe you. Nekoma is free of our debt."

"Deal," Tanaka echoes. She picks dirt out from under her nails. "Karasuno owes Nekoma for this mess, for our mistakes with Sugawara. If Nekomata approves, we approve."

Shirofuku aims her gun dead between my eyes. Her finger hovers on the trigger. I've faced my death so often these past few days that her threat doesn't make me flinch, doesn't make me so much as move. I've made up my mind. I've seen the case through to the end. It only takes one word, one action from her, to end the case over Akaashi's head, to keep the city glued together, one more day.

"Deal." The word pains her to say, the gun slipping back to her side. This time I do sigh with relief, my fingers reaching up to scratch my scar. They freeze with her glare, with the sheer hatred rolling off her, strong enough to make Sawamura shudder along with me. "Know this, Bokuto Koutarou: you have made no friends today. Fukurodani will not forget what you have stolen from us. Or what you forced us to leave behind. I know your secret, it will haunt you, every day, until I choose to reveal it."

She grabs the knife, pointing it once at me, before she spins on her heel. She does not look back, not once. Tanaka cracks her knuckles, following Shirofuku's lead, Sawamura shaking as he follows close behind. Nekomata strains to get to his feet, watching me sidelong as he slips out behind me, cane tapping the ground ahead of him.

The deal is done. The price is paid. And I stand, alone, no favours, no victory, with the life of a crumbling city I hate, and the life of the assassin I love.

-

_The Present, Bokuto's Office_

"You shouldn't have done that."

Akaashi's been silent for so long I'm afraid I might have broken him, and the words, while not exactly what I'd hoped for him to say, are refreshing. Clouds cover his face, the sunlight fading away behind us, the rain rolling back in, our reprieve breaking as Akaashi's face cracks under the effort not to express anything. 

"You saved my life back there, Akaashi. And you were innocent of this crime. I know this may not be what you'd wanted, or hoped for, but it's all I could do for you, in the end." I drain my cup, taking a loose cloth to wipe down the inside of it. 

"I told you to let me take the fall. Having Fukurodani as your enemy... and Nekoma will be waiting for us to slip up, let alone what'll happen with Seijoh's territory-"

"Akaashi." I'm leaning forward again, the good investigator setting his client straight on the facts. "I never said things were going to be easier. You were right: I couldn't save you. And you can't save me, either. All we can do in this hellscape is try our best, watch each other's backs, and make it out alive as long as we can. Understand?"

I know he does - it's in the resigned way he slouches in his seat, the way he pinches the bridge of his nose, the way his perfect jaw line tightens. He gives one curt, cold nod. Good enough.

"There's one more thing." That gets Akaashi's attention: he drops his hand, those green eyes flashing over to me. He'd thought I'd finished. "You can't ever betray me again, Akaashi. You, me, and Kuroo. We're a team now, a team of wanted men trying to do something that isn't quite good, but at least isn't as bad as everything else. You have to learn to trust us. Can you do that?"

Akaashi laughs, which makes me blink, makes me reach for my scar. I'd been prepared for a lot today - his anger, his restlessness, his resignation, but not this. Not humour, not light, not the way he smoothes his hand on the desk or waits for me to catch his eye again before he smiles, broad and open and like the world hasn't gone to shit. Like he's happy, truly happy, for the first time in a very long time.

"I have to try," he says. 

I stand up, lean straight over the desk, and kiss him, hard and long and deep. Damn, it feels good to do that. 

"Can you two cool it?" Kuroo's voice floats from beside me, and I pull back, fingers trailing out of Akaashi's hair. "I'm right here. Save it for later."

"Stop watching," Akaashi retorts. I snort as Kuroo throws up his hands, as he shakes his head in defeat.

"Fine, fine. Now that we're all settled, can we get out of here? I need a drink after all this, something better than the shit Bokuto keeps in his desk."

"Hey!" I protest, but Kuroo's already on his feet, Akaashi following just behind. 

"I don't drink," he says, the words echoing from the stranger he was weeks ago. "But I'll come."

"That's what I like to hear." Kuroo gives him a nod as he waltzes out of the room, as he leaves the door open to lean on Shimizu's desk, likely to entice her to come out with us. 

Akaashi waits, tilting his hat low so only the glint of his eyes can be seen, fixing his arm in its sling. That glint follows me as I cross the room, as I check my gun and pull off my tie, as I pull my jacket on. He waits, silent and still, ready at a moments notice to leap into action. But he's smiling. Hasn't stopped since he started.

And, despite everything, despite the bloodstains on his past and the wound he put in me, I'm glad he is.

There's no real end to the city. The sprawl stretches beyond the horizon, beyond the smoke and dirt, following the river as it winds its way down to the underworld. The clouds are thick, black and grey shadows over the sun, promising rain and darkness for months more to come. The mobs still lurk, waiting for new targets, for us to slip up, to make a mistake. Maybe one day we will. The city never sleeps: it remembers, and it waits.

It's a dark place, but as I look at Akaashi, at Kuroo and Shimizu, I'm glad to have a little light along the way. 

We step outside together, and I lock the door behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's a wrap! i had lots of fun writing this and all your comments so far have been lovely and encouraging. thank you all for reading, please feel free to yell with me over at [@tamocch](https://twitter.com/tamocch) if you want!


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